The Scandal of the Year
by eavan
Summary: Shortsighted rules from the Ministry send Madam Pomfrey's young replacement casting around for an eligible bachelor. On the way she watches HGSS succeed in the same quest. Mild language.
1. Crises in the Fall

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, including all characters outside the Arthur family and Abby. I don't own the idea of the Marriage Law either.

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**Crises in the Fall**

When the Ministry owls descended on Hogwarts they didn't even have the decency to restrict it to private quarters. No. Every muggleborn witch and wizard over seventeen got a notice of the marriage law there in the great hall at breakfast. It's a wonder only two students choked on their toast. I suppose it's no wonder they were both Hufflepuffs. See, I'm getting the hang of this house-bashing thing. Give me time; I'll have a side to root for at quidditch.

I'd come to England at the close of my healer training purely to avoid awkward situations like this; I'd convinced myself English people never got involved in awkward situations. Sure, it only took a bottle of Ogden's and a Scotsman to cure me of that illusion, but damn it all. Down the head table Hermione looked as sick as I was starting to feel. Severus was doing an unusually poor job of looking like he wasn't observing both of us. Six months to find a pureblood to marry. Mother of God. I haven't even had a date in at least seven.

I must've looked a little green when I completed that last thought. Remus just laid a hand on my shoulder. "Surely there's a loophole," he said, removing his hand as I turned to face him. I wasn't together enough to talk about this. Especially not with Remus, in front of whom I might just cry.

"Are the time limits extended for the students?" My brave front cracked on the mention of time limits, as did my voice. At this, Severus turned toward us. Neither Remus nor I managed to suppress our surprise.

"I understand the students will not have to marry until the close of their seventh year. They will not, however, be granted an extension to account for university." Severus' words were even more clipped than normal. He swept his eyes over the room and returned his attention to us. "The seventh years will be even more unbearable than usual today."

"I'll need more headache and restorative potions," I said, "and dreamless sleep, I think." Severus nodded and stood, pressing his hands to the table briefly before striding off. As soon as he was gone Hermione took his place. True to form, she grabbed my forearm with tense hands and a wild look in her wide eyes.

"Would you like to come for tea this evening?" Her voice was higher-pitched than normal but somehow flat. The healer in me worried a little. I sat up straighter in my chair and tried to look brave; I think I just kept looking ill.

"If you get tea this evening, then I get lunch in the infirmary. We'll negotiate about breakfast tomorrow." She nodded quickly, her curls expanding around her head. The students were starting to gather their books from the tables. Remus was already gone. I glanced around us quickly. All clear. "Get irresponsibly drunk with me tonight?"

She nodded again. "I don't want to—I don't want to think about this. I don't want to do this!" I clamped a hand on one of hers. Her eyes shrunk back to nearly normal size. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Look. We'll figure this out after we've done our jobs all day, all right?" She nodded and stood, straightening the front of her robes. For a quick moment the absurdity of me being the sensible one and logical Hermione being flustered made a laugh fight up my chest. Then it dawned on me: Hermione's not used to flying by the seat of her pants. Not at all. Damn it, Ministry. Torture your war hero, why don't you?

My potions predictions panned out. By ten o'clock I'd nearly run out of headache potion and I'd resorted to muggle smelling salts in two cases of fainting. It seems worry over the impending law had some of the girls not eating and most of the boys not sleeping. Better put in an order for some pepper-up, too. There'll be a cold or flu ripping through the dorms in no time.

Hermione arrived for lunch with Remus in tow. She had him by the forearm, this time, and he was valiantly trying not to look like her grip was painful. I saw why she got him involved almost immediately. She spent the entirety of the lunch talking with him about his and Tonks' recent additions, twin boys, and their favorite teething toys. You wouldn't think that topic of conversation would sustain three people for an entire lunch, but you'd be surprised what Hermione can do when she's motivated.

It must've been three when the other shoe dropped. I was just writing a note for a Ravenclaw with hay fever when an absurdly large owl landed on my desk. Once I'd detached the scroll the bird flew off, so I assumed it wasn't important enough to merit immediate attention. It was sitting there on my desk when the Head Girl walked in to ask for some pain reliever for her cramps—she'd be mortified I told you that—so she was the one to draw my attention back to it. Actually, she just said, "Did you get an owl from _PlayWizard_? Oh. I mean, never mind. It's none of my business."

I must've looked at her like she was mad, because she was out of there in a second. Still, I was curious. I read the scroll. Sure enough: _PlayWizard_. Could this day get any more stupid? I pressed the insides of my wrists to my eyelids and slid down in my chair, straightening my body like a board. Of course that's when Severus paid me a visit, slamming the door behind him. I shot up, dislodging myself from the edge of the seat and capsizing the chair on top of myself as I fell to the floor. "…oh, motherfucker."

"Indeed." I peered up at Severus through the slats in the back of the chair on my head. If he'd been sneering I'd have harangued him. Instead, he reached over my desk and lifted the chair off my head. By the time I sorted myself out he'd put the chair down on the other side of the desk and placed the newly-brewed potions along my shelf. "Was there any reason for that… performance?" Again, I looked for a smirk and failed to find one. So I said to myself, what the hell? I handed him the letter from _PlayWizard_.

To my mortification, he elected to read it aloud. "To Mademoiselle Lalaith Arthur: _PlayWizard_ is pleased to offer you a place in our upcoming issue 'The Women of the Marriage Law.' We are known for our tasteful celebrations of the female form. Please consider our offer; consider being part of our family." Oh, there's the smirk now. "Charming. You must be honored, _Lalaith_."

"My parents were Tolkien fans." I snapped. I took the offending letter back from him and set it at the far side of my desk. I straightened. Business. Think business, Arthur. Focus. "Thank you for the potions, Severus."

He inclined his head slightly, smirk still in place, and swept out of the room with his usual drama. Only as the final bit of his robes was leaving the door did it hit me what I'd just done: I'd just told the wizarding world's most famous spy about an offer to pose naked. I moved the chair back to the proper side of my desk and resumed the pose in which Severus had found me. At least there was more headache potion.

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I love reviews, if you want to send them. And thanks in advance. 


	2. Real Life Starts at Five

**Real Life Starts at Five**

My relief for the night shift came in early, at four, that afternoon. I managed to remove myself from the chair without falling, and in a spirit of self-congratulation I asked her to watch the place for an extra hour so I could compose myself. And try to boil my skin off in the hottest shower I could bear. Something about that scroll and the conversation with Severus had made me feel gross.

So at five I stood in a towel in front of my mirror reviewing my lifelong list of regrets with one half of my brain and scolding myself for self-pity with the other. As you might imagine, that led to a lot of racket in my thought processes. By the time I'd pried the last bobby pin out of my hair I was a little desperate to think of something else. All right, desperate enough to talk to myself. "Damn it, Arthur, pull it together!" My reflection scowled sternly back at me, but the effect was pretty well ruined by the odd angles my chignon had put into my hair. I dropped the towel and stared at myself. "Me? In a girly mag? For crying out loud." I stared critically at my average long straight hair, average waist, average breasts, and average navel. Wait, navel?

"You do have lovely skin, dear." Oh mirror… I can always count on you, can't I?

"That I've covered in scars and tattoos," I demurred. I turned to look at the iridescent script twining around my arms and lifted my hair to peer at the muggle eagle tattoo just beneath my hairline. On impulse I pressed my palm to it. "I don't regret you, eagle, even if Hermione does think you make me look like an American."

"But dear," the mirror trilled, "you are an American." I grinned back at the mirror and nodded to my naked torso. Good enough.

By the time I was out of the shower it was too late to do anything but put on the first clothes to come to hand and run for Hermione's quarters. I wound up in disreputable jeans and a tank top I think I stole from an ex-boyfriend. Classy, Arthur. At least I had the presence of mind to snag my robes before hitting the halls.

Hermione answered the door with a scotch in her hand and I felt a surge of affection for her. She was my first friend at Hogwarts, and one of the best ones I've ever had. I stepped all the way into her warm room and shrugged out of my robes again—they smelled like disinfectant, and I didn't want that getting in the way of the smell of dinner. "Man, I'm glad you're alone. Otherwise I'd have been self-conscious about looking like a gutter punk."

"Your secret's safe with me." Hermione smiled at me and I could tell she'd been at the drinking a while longer than I originally thought. I poured one for myself and sat across from her, not that there was a choice. Her study was only large enough for the necessities. For Hermione, these came in the following order: books, chairs, a fireplace, and a small table. We sat in silence for a while; then I remembered the Severus incident.

"Hermione. I just remembered." She looked at me inquiringly. "I got a letter from _PlayWizard_ today."

"What?" She sputtered. Suppose I should've waited until she swallowed that sip.

"Okay, here's the story." I related the order of events leading to Severus' dramatic reading of my letter. By that point Hermione's eyes were gleaming with a scary level of mirth. I don't know how that woman can be so amused without just laughing. I'd wet myself if I did that.

"You know," she paused to take a dramatic sip of scotch and raised an eyebrow at me. "I think he's thinking about it _right now_."

"Shut up!" I slapped a palm on the arm of my chair.

"Well," Again the pause. "He does ogle your arse from time to time."

"You're confused. He ogles _you_, not me."

"I don't believe you and Remus about that, by the way."

"You've mentioned." I did some pausing of my own. She lifted her eyebrows and waited. "But I saw what I saw. The man is lusting for you."

"I hardly think…"

"Pining, even! Yes, that's it. He's pining." Giving me a look the entire way, she brought our dinner plates to the little table and pulled it between us. We went quiet as we ate. I mulled over the tiny blush on Hermione's cheeks that appeared as I talked about our esteemed potions master. You'd better believe I was going to bring that back up once we started talking about the damned marriage law. My friend had no idea what she was in for.

"What's that look about?" Hermione caught me smirking slightly as I made my internal declarations about Snape. "Thinking of Severus?"

"Oh fuck off." I shook my head, laughing. "I was just thinking I might get Abby to cover the infirmary for me so I could go to a concert this weekend."

"Because you have gossip on Abby." It wasn't a question.

"Mmmhmmmmmmm." I loaded my fork with more raspberry tart. "Tasty gossip."

"You can't just leave it there!" Yes, I've been a bad influence on this woman.

"You remember the potions spill in the infirmary a couple weeks ago?" She nodded. "When I got in there I heard someone in the supply closet."

"Why would she go in there? There were fumes!"

"If you seal that closet a ventilation system starts. It's an old emergency precaution."

"Oh."

"Anyway I heard some noise, so I opened the door. Lo and behold, it was Abby."

"And?"

"And the delicious substitute flying teacher." Hermione's mouth formed an O for a moment. Then we both giggled like fourth years.

Because humiliation has to come in threes, Severus chose that moment to put his head in the fireplace and call Hermione. I remember watching my brother try to get past my father, once, when he was falling down drunk. My father absolutely knew. My brother smelled like a distillery and was weaving like a dizzy cat. But my father said nothing, and let my brother attempt to climb the stairs on his own. I was forcibly reminded of that as I watched Hermione try to hold it together long enough to talk to Severus. Of course I eavesdropped. What else was I supposed to do?

"Miss Granger I have spent my rounds entirely occupied with Gryffindors out after curfew. I do not—"

"Were they merely out, Severus, or were they snogging in corners?" Was it just me, or did she put heavy emphasis on his first name, there?

"Well, yes, some of them were engaging in—"

"Then their parents have you to thank, I'm sure. Good night, Severus."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione forcibly closed the connection and spelled the floo to require her password before he could call back. I gaped. "If you keep jerking his chain like that he'll snap your hand off, girl."

"I'm sure."

"…so you're into biting?"

"I won't dignify that."

I raised my glass to her. "To you, then."

"And to you." We drank to each other. I think we didn't stop drinking to each other until two. At any rate, I had just enough time to sober up and make breakfast before we both had to do our jobs again.

After a month of Hermione's furious research and everyone else's concerted efforts to keep things normal, we'd still made little progress getting around the marriage law. It had become the thing no one mentioned in the staff room. Instead they talked about the floral arrangements _PlayWizard_ kept sending me.

I was hiding in the infirmary when Hermione came to find me and suggested a walk. It was a sunny morning as we wandered around the nearly frozen lake. When we were about as far as we could be from the castle she stopped short and turned to me.

"As you know, I've been researching the law." Her composed face started to crumble. I just knew.

"We're fucked, aren't we." It wasn't truly a question.

"We—we're—we're fucked, yes." The nauseated feeling I'd been suppressing since the morning the ministry owls came flooded back into my throat. Hermione didn't look any better. Impulsively, I hugged her. She clutched back at me. After a few minutes she leaned away from me, still clutching the sleeves of my robes. "I—I had plans for myself. I had plans!"

I guess it wasn't over to me until she said that last sentence and made it sound like it was over. So it was over. I had plans, too. Past tense. She started to sob. Listening to her, I did too.


	3. The Season

**The Season**

It took hours, but we did gather our dignity enough to come inside. And from there, we kept our dignity together. We worked another week without speaking about our problem. Then it was winter break. Hermione, of course, had gone to spend the season with old friends. Tonks and Remus had invited me to stay with them, but I felt awkward about accepting anything more than dinner. I think poor Remus had been instructed to press the matter, because he kept asking until I flat out told him I'd given my final word. I'd no more than said that when I got an owl from the woman who called herself my father's wife.

She wanted me to come to the family Christmas Eve ball. Like hell. First of all, that horrible woman has no right still to be using the family name after my father's death. Second, she never replaced my mother and I don't care if I'm being childish. Third, I am not going to wear a formal dress if I can avoid it. Fourth, how dare she try to order me around? Fifth, Hermione has beautiful timing.

Okay, that was unrelated. But the fact remains that Hermione's head appeared in my fireplace just as I desperately needed a cool head to help me conjure a diplomatic reply. She convinced me to join her there, in what I learned was war hero Ron Weasley's kitchen.

"Honestly, Anna. I fail to see what's so horrible about a ball." Hermione rolled her eyes at me again. I thought of starting a tally.

"Let's review: it's a formal ball that will be stocked with matriarchs trying to marry their sons into a wealthy family by any means necessary. As the only unmarried woman in the Arthur family, I have a target on my back." I was starting to hyperventilate.

"So you'll have to be firm with them."

"Firm? Hermione, they're wealthy American muggle pricks! With overbearing mothers!" Yes, there's the twitching eyelid I was waiting for.

"Won't it be worse for a longer period if you fail to go? One ball will annoy you for a few hours; irritating Mrs. Arthur will cause you weeks of grief."

"True."

"Your brother will be there, won't he?"

"Hmph."

"I can help you shop for dresses so you don't have to go alone." Hermione stood and pushed her chair under the table.

"Oh…fine."

"Get up, then." She gave me a professorial look. "There's no time like the present." She left a note on the kitchen table, and we apparated to Diagon Alley. I indulged in a mental string of curses all the way through the afternoon. I'd never been so glad for Remus and Tonks as I was that evening, when I had to beg off our shopping trip to go to dinner.

So I went to a club that night. So it was a punk club. So I woke up covered in bruises and smelling like I'd slept in an ashtray. So I don't act like a fully-qualified healer in a position of responsibility. So what? Morning's not usually good for me, and mornings that involve two healing potions—think I cracked a rib, too—before coffee are never good for anyone. You've got to forgive me for taking a while to understand what Hermione was talking about.

"What've you got on for this morning? I'd like to get to Madam Malkin's as fast as we can so we can get the fitting over; that's always a problem for me, being so small."

"Malkin? Now? Morning?" Good work there, Arthur. Sure she understood that.

"Anna, have you even been listening? I was telling you I have to get new formal dress robes today."

"Whyssat?" I peered down at the bruises disappearing slowly from my arm. Hermione followed my gaze and gasped.

"What on earth did you do to yourself?"

"Went to a show. Loud." I gestured toward my ears before taking another swig of coffee and swallowing it noisily. "Was fun."

"All right." She peered at me, brows drawn together. Then she seemed to decide it wasn't worth questioning. "I was saying I have been invited to the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball."

"Thought you had dress robes? From the Yule Ball?" The coffee was kicking in. Thank heaven.

"I do." She rolled her eyes. "But I need new ones; he's seen those recently."

"Wait, wait. He?"

"Yes, he. I wasn't invited by Malfoy, I was invited by Severus."

"Holy cats!" Of all the times to turn into my Great Aunt Myrtle. I just said holy cats.

"I know." She let out a very un-Hermione squeak at the end. It might've been excitement or nervousness, hard to say. I swallowed the last of my coffee and shot into action. Well, actually I stood up.

"I'm showering and we're going. Don't move." By the time I got out of the shower Hermione had laid out an outfit and robes for me. For a moment I pictured her laying out her clothes with great care every night before going to bed. Well. She probably really does do that. The second I'd covered my nakedness she grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the floo.

"We can floo to Ron's and apparate from there. And bring your dress. We can get fitted at the same time."

"When did you get all these girl skills?"

"Bill Weasley's wedding." She smiled in a half-wincing way. Another thought was trying to occur to me, I could feel it. Oh yeah.

"Doesn't Ron mind having his apartment used as a launch pad?"

"What he doesn't know…"

"Hermione!"

"Come on, Anna. We'd have to walk to the gates to apparate from there." I was about to point out the logic of flooing to the Leaky like any other sane witch, but she already had a course set. Best to let this go, I thought.

Moments later when I was waiting for Hermione get off me so I could peel my face up from the linoleum I realized I might've been wrong about that. I swear; she's even worse than a drunk when she's excited.

"Who'd you tackle this time, Hermione?" A male voice asked from the doorway, maybe. It was hard to say with my face sideways.

"Shut up, Ronald." Hermione snapped. Ronald. Ron Weasley. So help me. Great first impression, Arthur.

"Hermione? Back already?" Another male voice. Tell me that's not Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world.

"Morning Harry." Oh of course. Of course it is. Hermione finally finished chatting long enough to stop sitting on my ribcage and put a hand down to me. "This is my friend Anna, the new healer I told you about. Anna, this is Ron and this is Harry." We exchanged nods once I'd gained my feet. I had the pressing feeling I was supposed to say something witty. Instead I thought I'd get us moving again.

"Well," God, my voice sounds loud. "Should we get on with the shopping?"

"Oh, Anna. We're not intruding on anything." What? Intruding? "We can stay for a cup of coffee."

"Oh—all right." I caved and sat down across from Ron, who had thrown himself into a chair and was now peering at Hermione's hair.

"Your hair's different." He pronounced. I turned to peer at it, too. Hermione's face fell.

"I tried to turn it back," she said, "but I don't know what charm they used."

"They?" The Golden Trio speaks in code, apparently.

"The Weasley twins." That was Harry, who was also levitating full mugs of coffee to all of us. I like this Harry.

"What did you do to them?" I asked Hermione. Her face creased into a scowl, then faded into a look of mild guilt.

"Nothing, really…" she started. Harry snorted.

"She took the cushioning charms off their broomsticks," Ron snickered. Harry looked like he was fighting a giggle. I was puzzled. I looked to Hermione. She leaned over to me and said the name of an unfortunate fifth year whose Yule Ball punch had been heavily spiked with a potion to cure impotence. The poor kid hadn't been able to stand straight for a week. I blinked at her. She nodded.

I blinked again. A series of events began to march into place. Hermione visits old friends. Two of those friends irritate her in some way. She wants revenge. She gets it with a potion. She doesn't have time to brew one, nor a secret place to do it. She asks Severus. Severus invites her to the Malfoy ball. Blink, blink. Must've been one hell of an irritation. It takes a lot to move Hermione to violence.

"Maybe I should ask what they did to you first?" Hermione looked at the table as soon as I asked, so I tried glancing at the other two. Harry looked interested and Ron looked mildly dazed. No help there. "Well?"

"All right." Hermione sat up and folded her hands on the table. Ron perked back up at her tone of voice. "Those two provided suggestions to _PlayWizard_ magazine for their issue on the marriage law! Names? Can you believe?" She stood and shoved her chair out of the way with a little more violence than necessary. She paced to the cupboards and back again, then threw her hands in the air. "Can you believe, Anna? They gave that awful magazine your name!" Way to keep that in the family, Hermione.

I stood and grabbed her wrists, walking her back to her chair. "Hermione, it won't do any good now…"

"But they shouldn't have! And it's been so awful for you, and they don't even care, those two idiots; they think it's all a joke. They don't understand how horrible it's been!" I pushed her back into the chair and sat down next to her, mentally pleading with her to stop talking about _PlayWizard_ in front of her nerve-wrackingly famous friends.

"Now listen. I'm a big girl and I can take it. I have taken it. The entire thing is over and needs to be forgotten." I glanced at Harry and Ron for a supportive nod or something, but they were just staring like a couple of cows in a pasture. "I appreciate your sticking up for me, but do it when I can watch next time, huh?"

"Um, Anna, Hermione?" Harry was looking at us both with no small amount of trepidation.

"Yes?" I tried to sound calm, and certainly not annoyed.

"Could you tell us, if you want, what's going on?" I couldn't help it; I sighed.

"I'll try." I turned back around to face the table squarely. "As you know, Hermione's affected by the marriage law." They nodded. "I am too." They winced. "The same day the ministry owls came out, I got a letter from _PlayWizard_ offering me a place in an issue on the law." Their foreheads wrinkled—then Harry seemed to get it.

"They wanted you to pose for a _PlayWizard_ full of muggleborn witches?" Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter.

"Wait a tic. Fred and George gave them your name?" That was Ron. I looked to Hermione. She nodded. "I'll bloody kill 'em." I didn't know what to do other than look alarmed. Harry stepped in.

"Hold on. How did you find out, Hermione?" Yes, how did she?

"I was trying to find out." She blushed a little. "I found out the publisher of _PlayWizard_ has connections to the Malfoy family, and I asked Severus to look into it." Ohhhhh the embarrassment just went up: she talked to Severus. "As it happened, he already had."

"What?" Oh, that was out loud.

"Draco told him all about it."

"My brother-in-law was part of this?" Ron bellowed. Hermione looked at him sternly.

"No, Ronald." She sat forward in her chair. "Draco just knew the people to ask. When he found out he told Severus, who told me."

"And then Severus gave you the potion to get back at the twins." I concluded. Harry and Ron's heads swiveled toward me, then back to Hermione.

"Yes. Draco also told Ginny, Ron. I had to convince her not to hex them before I could give them the potion. She knows Anna too." Something else was bothering me.

"But the twins don't know me," I blurted. "How could they give my name to the magazine? They have no idea who I am."

"They were one of several contributors." Hermione cut in. "The editors asked shop owners in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley for the names of attractive muggleborn witches they could proposition. I don't know how Fred and George got attached to your name—maybe they took it on someone's recommendation." My head was starting to ache.

"You know, it doesn't matter now. It really doesn't." I let my head drop back on the rail of my chair for a moment. "I do wonder how they got my real name, though."

All three of them turned their attention toward me at that. "Your real name?" Ron asked. Simultaneously, Hermione said, "You're not actually Anna?"

"My real name is Lalaith. Laugh and I'll hex you." The corners of Harry's mouth twitched up. I glared at him.

"Sorry," Harry said, "it's just that Tonks says the same thing."

I grinned, thinking of Tonks. "She might have more to complain about than I do," I said.

"So… We're supposed to call you Anna, right?" Ron looked a little worried about getting hexed for asking. A lot of his friends are Aurors, I guess.

"Yes," I said, "That's the name I use."

Hermione and I were in the formal section of Madam Malkin's before I had the nerve to ask about a point that had been confusing me since she first insisted on our side trip to Ron's kitchen. I decided to start without preamble in hopes of catching her unaware. "Hermione, why did you want to go to Ron's in the first place?"

"I thought it would be convenient." Well, no such luck. She's nowhere near unaware.

"But why not the Leaky? And why did you want to stay after being in such a hurry to get out of Hogwarts?"

"I don't know, Anna, I just thought it'd be odd to run off when you'd first met the boys." All right. She's not looking me in the eye. Something is rotten in Denmark.

"Bullshit, Hermione."

"Oh all right." She lowered her voice considerably and pulled me behind a rack of hideous floral print robes. "I wanted to tell you about the twins before we came to the shops." Plausible, but no. Something else is going on here.

"But you didn't start to say anything until Ron noticed your hair."

"On a first-name basis already, are you?"

"Hermione, please. I'm not as sharp as you, but I'm not an idiot."

"I wanted you to meet Harry." She blurted. "And Ginny did too." She paused. "I hope you aren't too angry, Anna."

"No I'm not—Hey! Is that why you laid out my clothes?" She looked sheepish. "It is, isn't it?" I couldn't help it; I started laughing. Pretty soon, Hermione joined me.

The day turned out to be productive. By the end of our shopping I had a floor-length crimson gown that covered all of my tattoos but the eagle on my neck. Hermione had amazing dress robes that I can only call copper, though that doesn't do the fabric justice.


	4. With Nowhere to Go

**With Nowhere to Go**

Christmas Eve morning I woke to an owl in the face, Ginny Malfoy's head in my fireplace, and a determined pounding on the door. I sat up in bed and the owl came with me, much to my shock. I detached the scroll from her and marveled at her white feathers for a few moments. Ginny's voice cut through my sleepy admiration. "Her name's Hedwig, Anna." The owl turned her luminous gaze to Ginny, and returned it to me. For a moment I felt pinned in place. Then the pounding started again.

One owl treat, a promise to come to Christmas dinner, and the arrival of a seriously harried Hermione later I was able to call a house elf and get some coffee. Not for the first time I wondered what had inspired me to come all the way to England, land of tea, and why I actually enjoyed my time here. I mentioned I'm not good at mornings, didn't I?

"You'll be at the Malfoy Christmas dinner, too, Anna?" Hermione somehow already had her dress robes hanging neatly in the time it took me to wake up and wander into my study.

"I will. I'm glad you'll be there." I pushed a mug into her hands and gestured toward a chair by the fire. Only after she curled her feet under her as she sat did I realize she was still in her pajamas, too. "Will you bring anyone with you?" I pressed.

"Nosy, aren't you?" She grinned at me. I raised my eyebrows. "I will."

"So?" I could barely keep from bouncing in my chair.

"Severus has agreed to join me."

"Yes!" I hollered, scaring the returning house elf half to death. I slid the table over so she could set the tray down more easily and apologized my head off. While I was distracted Hermione had retrieved the scroll I'd untied from Hedwig and set it on my chair. I frowned at her not-too-subtle hint. "All right, all right," I grumbled. Truthfully, I was a little afraid to open it. I can't even tell you why. All right, Arthur. Buck up. I unrolled the parchment and squinted at the amazingly bad handwriting. I heard Hermione chuckle.

"Can you manage? I'm used to Harry's writing if you want help."

"I think I can get it." I squinted harder at the final section. "I thought he was muggle-raised."

"He was."

"Then why's he not using a typewriter?" Hermione just chuckled again. We started on our scones and I thought about Harry's note. He'd asked me to meet him at the Three Broomsticks for lunch the day after Christmas. Part of me wanted to read a lot into the offer, and part of me was determined not to. Another part of me was aware of both Hedwig and Hermione watching me think. Ugh. Just do it, Arthur. I scrawled a response and attached the scroll to Hedwig's leg again. She gave me a polite nip on the finger and preened quickly at Hermione's hairline before flying off.

"So?" Hermione peered at me.

"Beautiful owl." Take that, Miss Secretive. She just shook her head. I sunk into thought again. I'd been halfway considering staying in America for a while after the family ball. Maybe going out to the homestead in Idaho and visiting the local old-timers like Dad used to do. I guess I wasn't going to do that if I was going to come back and have lunch with the savior of the wizarding world. I shook my head. I'm tired of being confused.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, just that I'd half-way planned to stay back home for a while, but now I've agreed to see Harry."

"You could always go back to America afterward." Hermione is no good at hiding smugness. No good at all. I bet Ginny is even worse.

"I could. I might. I think a little time in Idaho will clear my head."

"Do you need your head cleared?"

"Sometimes I think so." I glanced down at my plate a moment and wondered about going on. "Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing all the way over here where I don't belong." I smiled a little, but couldn't bring myself to look at her when I did it.

"Stop that, Anna." She said firmly. My head snapped up. She was nearly glaring at me.

"Sorry?"

"You know what I mean." She straightened in her chair. "You belong here just as much as you belong anywhere else. If you were still in New York you'd still be with that awful woman."

"True. I apologize. I don't mean to insult Hogwarts, or anyone. I just wonder where my life is going. That's all."

"All right." Well. At least she's dropping it. I know it's just for my sake. Her lips are still pressed together tighter than McGonagall's. I just want things to be easy. Hasn't she ever wanted that?

By five we'd spent longer fussing over ourselves than either of us would admit to strangers. Hell, I'm pretty sure Hermione wouldn't admit it to her escort for the evening, either. I'd gathered a massive cloak to cover my gown for the chain of apparations between Scotland and New York and had left my hair hanging so I wouldn't have to resort to a coat of muggle hair spray. I was just shrinking some sensible clothes into an overnight bag when Hermione attached her final hairpin.

She's not a classically stunning woman. Her features are soft; they're rounded. Most of the time it's her posture that makes her stand out to me. She looks intelligent and determined—even just sitting at breakfast buttering her toast. Tonight that quality joined robes that brought extra light into her quick eyes and shining hair. She always looks like the sort of woman you'd like to talk to. In her new dress robes she looked like the woman you wish would want to talk to you. Compelling—I think that's the word I want. I wish I could tell her so she'd believe me.

"Well?" She turned to me with her arms slightly away from her sides, as though posing for inspection. "Am I presentable?"

I stepped in front of her and poked a curl back into line with its fellows. "You look wonderful. Trust me." She dipped her chin down a little shyly. "Now turn around and let me check you for lint."

"Yes, mum." She twirled slowly. I picked a stray hair off her shoulder blade and pronounced her finished.

"Perfect." She turned to face me again. "Could you help me with the sticking charms at the back of my gown?"

"Of course." I turned away from her to expose the deep V in the back of my dress. Though the gown had long sleeves and a demure high neck, almost the entirety of my back was exposed. I was terrified the seams would gape away from my back and, well, put on a show. I felt Hermione's fingers lift the seams away, then press them back in place. She was doing the charm wandlessly. Show-off. "There, you're sorted."

"Thanks." I took a few experimental deep breaths. The dress moved with me.

"Do you want me to conceal your tattoo, Anna?"

"Well, it's mostly under my hair." I thought of my horrid stepmother's reaction if she saw it. Then I dug in my heels. "And the hell with her, anyway."

"In that case, should we put your hair up?" Hermione smirked into the mirror beside my shoulder. I smirked back, tempted.

"Do we have time?"

"Are you a witch, or aren't you?"

"You know how to freeze my hair for an entire night?"

"Honestly, Anna. Have you seen my hair?" Hermione grabbed a fistful of my hair and lifted it from my neck. "Now sit and hold still." She divided my hair into what felt like a wadded-up braid, and then charmed the living daylights out of it. I gave it a tap. It didn't move.

"I've got to ask again: how did you get all these girl skills?" Hermione chuckled quietly.

"I didn't have them until I was at university. Then I no longer had Ginny to help with my hair."

"I figured you didn't worry about it much."

"I didn't. Not until I was going on a date, at least." We smiled at each other through the mirror. "Up you get. We've both got to get moving."

"You're right. Suppose I'll floo for the first leg." I couldn't hold back an annoyed sigh.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Anna. You'll live."

"Easy for you to say." I stood and turned in front of her again. "Are you sure I don't look stupid?"

"Certain. Now go."


	5. The New Family Circle

**The New Family Circle**

If I'd thought about Mrs. Arthur's predictable response to my arrival I might've dragged my feet even more about leaving my rooms. As it was, I arrived at my brother Jack's apartment having only thought about Hermione and Severus, and babies with black curly hair.

Jack was staring into his reflection on his oven door harassing the half-tied ends of his bowtie and looking perplexed when I got there. "I'd offer to help you, but I can't remember how to do it either," I said.

"Damn thing… damn formal party…"

"Come here and give me your neck, you oaf." Jack straightened and met me half-way. I took out my wand, and he looked nervous. "I'm not going to hex you, man."

"What are you going to do, then, Pix?" Pix. Pixie. Only my most hated nickname.

"Don't call me that, damn it!" Jack just grinned at my annoyance. I muttered what I hoped was a charm to tie bowties. There was a tense moment before the tie put itself in order. Jackpot.

"Aw, Pix. You know I missed your sailor tongue." Hold on now. Jack's eyes are—

"Are you…not sober?"

"You're going to do this sober, Pix? Really?" Jack looked at me incredulously. When he did that he looked even more like Dad. Same shiny black hair, same slightly tan skin, same dark eyes with crinkled corners. "You all right, Pix?" Damn. Must've made a face.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat. "Yeah. Just—you look more like Dad than last time I saw you." Jack briefly squeezed both my shoulders. We both agreed, silently, to drop it.

"Look, Pix, you can't tell if you don't know me, can you?" Tell…what? What are we talking about? Oh! Oh.

"Nah. I can see it in your eyes a little. It's not bad. You could just be tired." He grinned again.

"So, Pix," he started attaching onyx cufflinks as he talked. "Who's escorting you to this gala?"

"Oh fuck." My mind raced. No date. Absolutely no date.

"You forgot?"

"Yeah I fucking forgot! I have a job, Jack!"

"Easy there, killer." He checked his watch and looked out his loft window for a second as a car alarm started in the street below. Suddenly his head snapped up. "You remember Max?"

"Max…I remember a three-year-old Max." I'd gotten unused to Jack's nonlinear conversational style during my time with Hermione. I used to be able to do this, but no longer. "Why, Jack?"

"See, I'm taking Lana with me." Lana. Max's very hot Mom. Widow. Got it. Score one for Jack Arthur! Hermione'd kick me for thinking that.

"I'm confused."

"Think about it." I'm thinking. Come on, Jack. Little help here. "Lana wouldn't have to pay a babysitter and you'd get to piss off Mrs. Arthur." He took an exaggeratedly long look at my very clearly non-muggle cloak before continuing. "Piss her off even more, that is."

"You want me to bring a three-year-old date?"

"I want you to bring Max."

"What about Lana?"

"Come on, Pix. She hates the hag too."

"Hey. Easy on the witches." Jack smirked at me and got Lana on the phone while I transfigured my traveling cloak into a muggle coat. I turned when I heard him snap the phone closed and saw him staring at my newly un-shrunk overnight bag.

"Wish you could show Lana that."

"Well…" I drawled.

"Don't even jinx it, Pix." Jinx it? Woah…Jack's serious enough about Lana not to rise to a jab about marrying her? "I really like her." I couldn't do anything other than grin like a dope after that. Jack and Lana. I will be damned.

After some hilarious moments trying to get both Lana and my gowns into the cab with Max and Jack we arrived at the old family home. I used to think of it that way, at least. Things don't seem as old to me in America now that I live at Hogwarts--at Hogwarts where I don't have to tell people I'm a nurse and that I live in Scotland, then lie about the rest. All right, Arthur. Enough self-pity.

Max and I had a pleasant conversation about bugs all the way to the ballroom. Greeting the gorgon was not even so bad—all she said was "charming" when I told her I was there with a baby. Behind her I thought one of the ushers was going to lose his grip on his poker face, but he pulled it off. Max even told Mrs. Arthur she had a pretty dress. Lovely kid.

After some swift place card changing at the tables Max and I had claimed a spot with Lana and Jack, along with some poor functionaries from the Federal Department of Something-or-Other. The middle-aged couple looked like they knew they were being used to fend off Mrs. Arthur's plans for my evening, but seemed like they had no idea what to do other than go along with it. Max and I had moved on to snakes by then. Again I felt the stabbing desire to be able to tell this tiny child about my real life, and about dragons. Well, we don't get what we want, Arthur.

"Miss Anna-Anna?" Max drew my attention back to the table. I grinned at the double name he gave me.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"Do we dance later?" Oh boy. Didn't think of that.

"I think so, Max." But your feet won't come near touching the ground, now will they. "Do you know how to waltz?" At this Max's forehead wrinkled and I could see the lady across the table bring up her napkin to hide her smile.

"I don't think so. I can skip, though." He looked up at me hopefully.

"Well, that's pretty good." What are you saying, Arthur? Skipping? "Maybe I can help you dance, later."

"Okay." Max turned happily to his plate again. I fretted, hard. Thankfully the end of dinner saw a sober Jack ready to think on his feet. Sure enough, I found his hand extended to me before any of the sharp-faced mothers could shove their dull sons at me. All right, maybe that wasn't fair to them. But thank heavens for Jack anyway. I passed care of Max back to Lana and settled into the first waltz.

"Don't look so freaked out, Pix, she'll smell fear."

"What am I going to do, Jack?"

"You're going to dance with some of these pricks, goof off with Max a little more, and take him back to my apartment when he gets tired. That should be…an hour and a half from now." Jack smiled at me as the magnificent excuse to leave he'd provided me finally dawned on me. "You know Pix, you've got to get out more."

"Oh shut up."

"Really, Pix. This kind of crap shouldn't make you this nervous."

"It doesn't." Yeah sure. And I'm the queen of England. "Besides, I work. I don't have time for 'this kind of crap.'"

"Easy Pix. Just observing." Yeah. A little too perceptively, like always. I swear Jack's not all muggle. When we whirled to a stop I made a beeline for Max, my security blanket for the evening. We talked about cars and motorcycles as I spun him around, carrying him.

He conked out a little over an hour later, just as Jack had predicted. I wandered into the basement, cast a charm on Max to knock him out for a bit, and apparated us back to Jack's. I figure what Lana doesn't know won't hurt me. Even after I took the charm off Max was pretty well out. I removed the most restricting parts of his baby tux and curled an afghan lightly around him on the couch. As soon as I stopped holding him he started kicking, though, so I pulled him into my lap with his head on my collarbone.

As he slept I sat and stared out the windows to the little sliver of street I could see receding from my vantage point. He gave little sighs in his sleep and clutched his hands. Impulsively, I ran my palm over his fine hair. He turned slightly toward my hand and my chest produced a dull ache that surprised me.

I had been trying so hard not to think about it: the marriage law. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'd thought leaving the wizarding world wouldn't be too bad for me, if it came to that. I could come back to New York, learn to be a muggle nurse, and go on with life. Just like that. But I couldn't. Not really. Those people were even less like me than the witches and wizards half-way across the world I saw most days. I petted Max's tiny head again. I no longer belonged here, either. So: marriage.

That's the other option. Be a misfit or get married. Have a kid. Have a little Max. The twinge in my chest released a little. I know, I know. They're not necessarily little Maxes. Max only had one short night to be charming, and any kid of mine would be forever. Forever and magical—so help me. But I was doing okay with Max so far. Maybe I could do it.


	6. Suitors Wanted

**Suitors Wanted**

That night I successfully avoided thinking about the next logical step. Actually, the first logical step: I needed someone to marry. My happy unawareness didn't last long. I got back to Hogwarts to find Hermione in my study, waiting.

"You're back." She announced.

"You're…here." I set my bag down, took my cloak off, and waited for her to explain. She sat, silent. I groped for something to say. "Well. Lunch?"

"I think you should open your gifts." Oh yeah. Christmas.

"Oh, okay." I retrieved them from the end of my bed—a custom I just don't understand—and piled them next to my chair. Hermione was still silent, her mind clearly elsewhere. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine, thank you." Then why are you sitting up that straight? "Oh, all right. I'm just so distracted."

"By?"

"I think you should open your presents." Don't want to talk about it, eh?

"I'm not actually dropping it."

"I didn't think you would." She actually smiled at that. Getting warmer.

Remus and Tonks sent an alarmingly-colored scarf with a note in Remus' handwriting. I got a massive pile of chocolate frogs from the Gryffindor quidditch team—probably on the orders of their captain, whose leg I nearly had to reattach earlier in the year. I made my way to the bottom of the pile to draw out a gold-wrapped box with no tag.

"That one's from Jack."

"How?" It was utterly beyond my ability to imagine that Jack got himself together enough to ship a present to Hogwarts from New York in time for the holiday. "Jack never remembers gifts."

"I asked him to pick your gift up for me; he sent this along with it." Hermione sat forward and peered at the box with me. "Well?"

"Jack never remembers…" I unwrapped it to find a velvet covered jewelry box, which really made no sense. I can't wear jewelry as I work—too many reactions. I flipped it open. In it was an old brass skeleton key on a length of cord, and a piece of notebook paper. I unfolded the paper on my knee.

"What is it?" This must really have been burning a hole in her pocket while I was gone. I read Jack's handwriting from the paper.

"Pix—I signed the Idaho house over to you. Here's the key. You can always come home. Jack." For a while I just sat with the cool key in my palm, feeling the metal warm to my body. On a whim I lengthened the cord and tied it around my neck to hang under my collar out of sight.

After lunch we wandered around the lake, both in our loud scarves from Remus and Tonks. I suspect Hermione felt some ambivalence about hers, but every time I caught sight of mine I got happy all over again about my friends here and about being back in England. Hermione had again fallen into pensive silence as we walked. She'd failed to give me any details about her evening with Severus, though I'd gone into as much detail as I could bear about my swain, Max. Frustration with her stubbornness and worry about her started to fight in my mind, but the frustration was uppermost. I decided to follow my first instinct and peg her between the shoulder blades with a snowball.

You should've seen the look on her face. Actually, you should've heard the noise she made. Unfortunately for me, it didn't take her long to recover. I guess her two best friends were boys, and quidditch players at that. I barely had time to dodge before her first missile, and I took the second right on the chin. I made a creditable hit to her torso and a glancing blow to her throwing arm before diving behind a tree trunk. For a few tense moments we stockpiled ammo from behind opposing tree trunks.

I screwed my courage to the sticking point and sprinted from behind my tree, my arm loaded with snowballs, launching and dodging as I went. I had only the shortest moment to know fear before I realized she'd somehow recruited Remus. "Discretion is the better part of valor, Anna!" Remus shouted. I took cover behind the steps of Hagrid's hut and cast my eyes around for some help. Rocks, trees, bales of hay, icicles, snow, split-rail fence, Ginny…Ginny! I ran full-pelt at Ginny and Draco with Remus and Hermione in hot pursuit. Ginny fired a few snowballs at them and joined me in the run, while Draco wisely fell back muttering about Gryffindors.

Eventually we were pinned down near the greenhouses. Hermione and Remus mercilessly charmed snowballs to attack from one position while they snuck up on us. Though we struggled hand-to-hand in the end, Ginny and I lost spectacularly. We'd just admitted defeat when Remus shushed all of us and motioned for us to get down. He pointed to Severus leaving one of the greenhouses.

"Don't you dare," Hermione started.

"Ooh it's tempting, isn't it," Ginny said, eyes twinkling.

"Ginevra!" Hermione hissed. "We can't just…" Whatever else she said got covered by a roar of surprise that could only have come from Severus. I sat up and gawked.

"Who the hell's that?" I asked. Remus sat up, too, then chuckled as he pulled my shoulder back down.

"That's Sirius," he said.

"Got him right in the temple, there." Ginny updated us. Hermione looked anxious and a little annoyed. I racked my brain for someone named Sirius. Oh yes. The one they thought had died. The one Hermione never quite liked and thought was rude. And now he's bothering her Severus. Oh dear. From the look on Remus' face, he just had the same thought pattern. I turned to Hermione, deciding to pretend I hadn't figured out who the new man was.

"So, should Hogwarts' staff defend its own?" They turned toward me. Time to lay it on thick, Arthur. "Well, we can't just let someone attack one of our professors, can we?" Come on Remus. Catch on.

"No we can't." Yes! Saved by Remus.

"Let's go, then." I packed two quick snowballs and darted toward Severus, firing one at Sirius as I went. I was relieved to see Ginny keeping pace, then hitting him too. Hermione, meanwhile, was absolutely pelting him. At length Sirius held his hands up, and firing ceased. At some point Severus had slipped away.

"Mercy! Mercy! Mooney—call them off!" The man grinned widely at Ginny and me.

"And what makes you think I hold sway over any of them, Padfoot?" Remus clapped him on the shoulder, dusting some of the snow from his cloak. He introduced me formally, and again I got an odd feeling from Sirius' smile. Like he ate little girls like me for lunch, or thought he did. Shake it off, Arthur. Quit letting your imagination run away with you. As we stood I became more aware of my wet hair, the melting snow down my back, and my numbed hands. I made my excuses and went inside to change.

As I sat in my study, dressed in my pajamas at four in the afternoon, I had the tiny feeling that something was supposed to happen. Yes, there was definitely something I was supposed to do Christmas evening. I even went so far as to sift through the papers on my desk and on my bedside table. No hints there. Hours passed. I sat happily with a novel. Then, at seven, someone knocked on my door. Assuming it was Hermione, I bawled for the person to come in and wandered into the other room to find a bookmark.

I returned to find Tonks picking herself up from the floor with Remus in tow, looking amused. That wasn't the unusual part. This was: they were both dressed up. The tiny feeling I'd forgotten something started to grow. "Wotcher, Anna," Tonks chirped as she made it up to standing. She tilted her head at me, taking in my ratty Motorhead T-shirt and absurdly oversized flannel pants. "Are you not going?" Going? "To dinner at Malfoy Manor."

"Ginny said you were expected." Remus chimed in.

"Oh, son of a…" My curse died in my throat as I whirled toward my bedroom door. "I'll be three seconds." Remus chuckled, damn him. I poked my head back around my bedroom door, "and have a seat." I could hear Tonks say something, but couldn't make it out. I tore a brush down the length of my hair, gritting my teeth as I reviewed my closet. Brown dress robes it was. I shot a cleaning spell at them to knock the dust off before yanking them on, muttering "please fit, please fit, please fit." Taking a last, dismayed look in the mirror I opened the door to my bedroom while tucking my wand into my robes. "Damn it: shoes." I could hear Remus chuckle again as I retreated to my bedroom to find my heels. At least I remembered before I got to the hallway. Besides, let's be honest: I was really just going to the dinner to observe Hermione and Severus as much as politely possible.


	7. You Can Take the Girl Out of Idaho

**You Can Take the Girl out of Idaho…**

Though I have listened to all of Hermione's reasons to feel guilty about the excellent service at Malfoy Manor—I really have—I can't get excited enough about house elf rights to deny myself the canapés. Ginny had a small cocktail reception set up in the conservatory when we arrived. Of course we were among the last guests to make it, and I could only nod at Hermione and Severus from across the room. To my surprise, Severus nodded back with twice his usual vigor. Of course, that's not saying much. Still, I'm counting it a victory.

I circulated with Tonks and Remus for a while before spotting one of my favorite people. Neville Longbottom stood two conversational clusters away, picking at his cuffs and admiring the glossy leaves of a plant I could never name. I know he could. I could see Luna Longbottom corralling their adopted children, who must have been just old enough to get an invitation. Knowing Neville like I do, I knew I'd have to be within his line of sight before I could get his attention from the plant. I sidled up to him, only elbowing one person on the way.

"Mr. Longbottom," I intoned, badly impersonating Severus.

"I'm not fooled, Anna." Neville turned to me, grinning.

"How are you, Neville?"

"All right," he resumed picking his sleeve and paused a moment, "but I ought to ask how you are."

"Pardon?"

"Well. The marriage law. I thought—I thought you were muggleborn."

"I am; I am." He looked at me, perplexed. "I suppose I haven't been thinking about it." I winced, realizing how childish that sounded. "Guess that won't do any good."

"Ah. Well. I don't mean to bring up a painful subject." He shuffled a foot back and forth.

"No, Neville, No. Not at all." I put on my bravest smile. "You haven't. Really."

"All right." He grinned.

"How are the children?" That's all you need to say to Neville to start him really talking. He's so clearly the caring father his children lacked in the wake of the war. When he and Luna first adopted they brought the kids to Hogwarts for their initial health exams. I've known two of the kids since they weren't yet Hogwarts age, and I've treated the eldest, Eliana, for quidditch injuries already. Eliana, in fact, is just beginning to get a thirteen-year-old's embarrassment about being seen with her parents.

At dinner I was seated next to Luna and across from Harry. I began to think Hermione hadn't been kidding about Ginny wanting me to meet him, since she created the seating arrangements. Eliana sat on my other side, and gave me the perfect out for trying to strike up a conversation with Harry. Not that I had a problem with Harry. It's just so odd to know that someone wanted you to meet one of their friends—especially one of their male friends who happens to be the savior of the wizarding world. I suppose I don't even need to mention how easy he is on the eyes. No, no I don't. I'll just get even more nervous. Focus up, Arthur.

"Is Gryffindor still ahead in the House Cup competition this year, Eliana?" I knew they were. What else is there to look at when the kids aren't in the castle? Good job being nonchalant, Arthur.

"So far." She finished swallowing her soup before continuing. Polite kid. "We have a really smart first year this year. She keeps getting points."

"You've got to have a little more going for you than that, El."

"We do. But you should see this girl! It's like she doesn't do anything else. She even got points from Snape!"

"Professor Snape, El." I softened the scold with a tiny swat to the shoulder. She grinned. "What else is going on?"

"Um…You won't tell?" I shook my head. She edged toward me and lowered her voice. "Lindsay's been owling with a Slytherin!" I put on what I hope was a good surprised look.

"No…" I whispered in fake shock.

"Yes!" She hissed. "And I think she's going to go to Hogsmeade with him!"

"What do you think the other Gryffindors will do?" Honestly, this is the part I actually cared about. If there's going to be a crying girl-fest in one of the dorms it's nice to know early.

"I don't know." She looked pensive for a second, then annoyed. "One of the fifth-year boys has a crush on her, though. He might be nasty about it."

"At least that's just one person." I hope. Please let it just be one person. I hate crying girl-fests.

"Yeah." We both paused to chew. Eliana turned to me again. "So. Who are you going to marry?" Harry made a small choking noise across the table. Eavesdropping, eh? Why don't you buy me some time to think of a response while you're at it? Apparently the savior of the wizarding world can't hear my thoughts. He just sat there looking for all the world like he was paying attention to his napkin. Jerk.

"Good question, Eliana." Cop out, Arthur. Huge cop out.

"You mean you don't know?"

"No, I don't." Oh shut up, kid.

"But you don't have too much longer!"

"I suppose not." Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"What are you going to do?" It's time for diversionary tactics.

"At the end of the week I'm going to go to Idaho—that's a state in the northwestern US. I've got some land there I need to check on." Good. She looks confused. Maybe if I keep going. "Right now there're about four hundred head of cattle on the ranch; I think I'll sell some of them off. I'm not sure I want the work of keeping them up."

"You have cattle?" Yes. I win. She's taken the bait. "Are there cowboys, too?" Argh. I didn't mean for you to take that bait, El.

"A couple, yeah."

"Maybe you could marry a cowboy!" Oh for heaven's sake—what is it about non-westerners and cowboys?

"I don't think so, El. Besides, I'm really just going to see what shape the place is in. I'll be back before the start of term."

"Oh. Well. Maybe one would come back with you." I had a flash vision of Norm, an old hand on the ranch, staring ponderously at the giant squid.

"That'd be a disaster." I couldn't keep the entirety of my laugh down. Another vision fought through: Norm trying to catch a blast-ended skrewt, muttering about critters. "First of all they're muggles. And second, there's not enough moonshine in the UK to make that work for the guys on the ranch." Again: Norm spitting a stream of tobacco juice at a tree in the forbidden forest, asking what the hell kind of horse a hippogryff was trying to be. "It'd be hilarious for the first week, though."

"Moonshine?" Harry asked. Way to join the conversation after I did all the heavy lifting, hero. Oh well.

"Oh. Guess that's an American word." I thought of and rejected a few definitions. "Basically it's home-distilled alcohol."

"Is it like Ogden's?" That was Eliana, who'd better not know anything about Ogden's yet, thank you very much.

"Not really. It's stronger, and harsher. If it's not done right—and there's no guarantee when you get it that it's right—it can blind you." Eliana looked unnerved. Harry looked amused.

"You speak from experience?" Harry barely held in a smirk. Sure, make me look delinquent in front of the kid. Thanks a bunch. Oh well. Honesty's the best policy.

"Sure. The guys have a still on the ranch. When I was little my family spent more time there."

"That doesn't explain why you were drinking it, really." He persisted. What is this, the inquisition?

"Well, Norm—he's one of the cowboys—used to give moonshine to my brother and me when we got really cold." Eliana looked impressed. That's not good. I hardly need Gryffindor tower getting hammered next time they have a snowball fight. "Of course that never worked for more than a minute. After the burn wore off we were always just as cold." Okay then. I've abandoned honesty.

"Ogden's doesn't work either." Harry contributed. "Not permanently, at least."

"And how would you know?" Two can play at this game, Potter.

"Quidditch."

"Oh of course." Wait a minute. Am I flirting? I am. Oh my. "Perfectly above-board."

"Of course." He grinned. I felt an adolescent squirming sensation in my stomach. No, no, Arthur. You can't develop a crush on the savior of the wizarding world. Especially not now, when you ought to be—gulp—actively looking for a husband. Where the hell's the dessert course?

Yes, I have a tendency to run away. Had I gone to Hogwarts, I would've been a Hufflepuff. Well, maybe not. I'm not even-tempered enough. But you get it: I'd never be a Gryffindor.

I popped out of the floo to my quarters and almost immediately started packing up for a trip to Idaho. I'd just go after I got done with Harry. Harry. There's that squirming feeling again. No, Arthur. The savior of the wizarding world will not marry little old Anna Arthur. And that's all that matters, like it or not. You want to stay a witch, you've got to find a bachelor. Nothing else can get in the way. I stilled for a moment and looked out at the frost on the corners of my bedroom casements. Scotland. Hogwarts. I don't want to leave this place permanently. I felt my chest squeeze. All right, Arthur. It won't help to panic. I took a deep breath and stopped throwing things toward my trunk. Might as well change for the night.

I was half-way out of my robes when someone knocked on my door. I hollered for the mystery visitor to wait, and finished changing into old jeans and a tank top. Whoever knocks on my door in the evening can take what they get, I figure.

"Can I…Hello, Severus." The potions master was still dressed from dinner. I looked around him for some sign of Hermione, as though that would make his presence at my door make more sense.

"Good evening." He caught my confusion, of course. "Miss Granger is not currently with me."

"Ah, um, come in." Good work there, Arthur. Way to keep your shock under your collar.

"Thank you." I gestured for him to follow me into my study, which hadn't yet been ransacked in the process of my packing. I saw him glance into the open door of my bedroom. "Traveling, Miss Arthur?"

"Yes. I'll be at home for a week." What's going on, here?

"I see. Mr. Potter will be disappointed."

"I'm sorry?" He just inclined his head. What does that mean? Severus Snape is not in my room to talk about Harry Potter. He just isn't. I won't believe it. Besides, I'm not thinking about Harry Potter. Not at all.

"There is a purpose to my visit."

"I prefer to see patients in the infirmary, if you'd care to go?"

"No." He stood and placed his hands on the mantle, his back to me. For a moment I had a vision of the ends of his voluminous robe catching fire. "I have a proposition."

"I'm sorry?" My voice came out fairly level, considering the litany of blasphemous exclamations marching through my head. Where I'm from the word proposition never means anything you'd want to tell Mom about. Surely he doesn't mean that? What if he does? Lord, I need a drink. "Scotch, Severus?"

"Thank you." I fiddled with the bottle some trying to settle out of my initial shock. "Neat?"

"Yes." He turned and accepted the glass. We both stood awkwardly before he moved to sit back down. "You require a husband." What?

"Yes." I confirmed.

"I," he paused and looked into the space to the left of my head. He actually looked uncomfortable. I thought he wasn't capable of looking anything other than commanding. "I wish to propose to Miss Granger." Hot damn!

"I'm glad to hear it." I took a sip of my drink to keep the dopey grin off my face. He gave another enigmatic nod. "But I don't understand how the two are related."

"I am…unaccustomed to romance." I think hell just froze. Severus Snape just said the word romance. I nodded. "I am prepared to aid you in your search for a husband if you provide me with advice about my proposal."

"Aid me?"

"I have connections among the pureblood families, Miss Arthur. I can provide you with names of bachelors and the necessary introductions." The enormity of what he'd offered began to dawn. All for helping him ask Hermione to do something I was pretty sure she wanted to do anyway? Yes indeed.

"I agree to your proposal."

"Good." He stood. "I will contact you on your return." He then whirled and made his usual dramatic exit. I hoped I wouldn't regret it.


	8. Derailment

**Derailment**

I met Harry in Hogsmeade the next day. I don't need to mention how thoroughly he had my attention—_Witch Weekly_ has done more than an decent job of telling the whole world why that would be—but I will say he's even better looking in his Auror robes. Oh how Hermione would laugh at me.

"Anna, d'you mind if we take a small side trip?" Ah. I was wondering why he hadn't walked any closer to the door of the pub.

"Course not." I hoped I sounded casual. "Where to?"

"Weasley Wizard Wheezes." I must've made a face, because he quickly continued. "I'd like you to meet the twins."

"The ones Hermione—well. The ones Hermione pranked?" He nodded. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"There's more to it. I'll explain when we get there." Once again I got the distinct feeling that the members of the famed Golden Trio spoke in code mere mortals weren't meant to understand. But what's the worst that could happen, really? I nodded. He put an arm around my shoulders and apparated us to Diagon Alley, before striding purposefully toward the tackiest building I've seen in a while. Disregarding the locked door, he let us in to the darkened shop and led me through to a back room.

The room was small and ill-lit, so the gravity of the situation didn't register at first. There were two beds shoved against the longest walls of the room. Each held a male body partly wrapped in muggle bandages, some of which were caked in blood and pus. The entire room smelled like infected wounds. The left arm of one of the men had fallen from the edge of the bed, and I could see two of the fingers bent at unnatural angles. For a moment I was sure both were dead. Then the old training kicked in, and I started to observe what mattered.

Both of them were breathing. At the sounds of our entry one showed signs of consciousness. Soon afterward the other one blinked. I could make out a pile of bandages and a bottle of something clear at the foot of one of the beds. Someone was trying to care for them. I pulled my cloak off and walked to the one on the right.

"I'm Anna Arthur. I'm a healer. Respond if you can."

"Hello." The man's voice was weak, but clear. I ran a basic diagnostic spell and found a mixture of broken bones, cuts, and burns. He had a battered and infected body, but his vitals were fairly healthy. I moved to the other man and repeated my speech. His eyes appeared to move, but there wasn't a definite response. I did a diagnostic spell. Same injuries—broken jaw, too.

"Potter. What have you done for them so far?" I demanded.

"Just a pain potion two hours ago."

"And the bandages?"

"I changed some of them after the potion."

"Alone?"

"With me." Tonks' bright head ducked through the door. She was carrying an emergency healer's kit. "Wotcher, Anna." I turned back to Harry, who was watching my diagnostic spells intently.

"How long have they been here?"

"Two hours." Harry said. He grimaced. "We don't exactly know what happened." Tonks had silently set up the healer's kit. I nodded my thanks and turned to the man I spoke to first.

"Were you hexed or cursed?" The man winced. Sensitivity to sound.

"Not much. Not bad."

"Your injuries are from a fight?"

"Irons." Someone sucked in a breath behind me; I couldn't tell if it was Harry or Tonks. I rounded on them. They weren't telling me something.

"Look. I have to know what lingering spellwork might be on their tissues before I can heal them at all. If you know anything you'd better tell me. Now."

"He means irons—like branding irons." Tonks said. "The people who had them use muggle methods."

"Good. Thank you." With that I could do my job, at least. I bent over the man who could talk. "I'm going to put you to sleep while I stabilize the other man with you. I'll heal your injuries as soon as I can." Without waiting for a response I knocked him out. Heaven knows how long he'd been waiting for that to happen.

Tonks and Harry kept surprisingly calm heads during the process of knitting up wounds and straightening bones. They helped me reposition the twins' bodies as I worked, and added light when I had to have it. That didn't keep the situation from nagging at me. What were two Aurors doing with two gravely injured men in the back room of a joke store? Why in the hell didn't they apparate them to St. Mungo's at once? Once I had the men stabilized and the room sanitized to my satisfaction I asked them point blank.

"It's part of why Harry was going to talk to you in the first place, Anna." Tonks responded. They exchanged the kind of look parents give each other when they don't want to say something in front of the kids.

"Damn it, just tell me. If you just had me do something illegal I'd rather know about it." I snapped. I took a deep breath, knowing I was acting crazy. "Look. I know you've got men with severe torture wounds that you didn't want to take to the hospital. How much worse can the truth be than that?"

"Those men are Fred and George Weasley," Harry began, "and they were part of an investigation." He paused and looked at the ceiling, appearing to consider his next words. "Edward Wade is the friend of the Malfoy family Hermione suspected of soliciting names from shopkeepers."

"For _PlayWizard_?" I interrupted.

"Yes," Tonks continued. "Wade also runs an insurance scam that's making him a lot of money."

"Insurance scam?"

"More like muggle organized crime." Harry contributed. "He and his organization force shop owners to buy insurance. If they don't, he sends people to damage their shops. _PlayWizard_ is really just a side-investment."

"Or it was," Tonks cut in. "We think Wade used soliciting names from shopkeepers as a way to get in contact with more business owners. Word had gotten around about what he was doing, so he needed a new front. He used the magazine, and the muggleborn issue."

"The Weasleys wouldn't pay up, so he…" I trailed off, horrified.

"No." Tonks cut in. "We thought he was using the _PlayWizard_ issue, so we asked Fred and George to give him names, and get us some information."

"God bless," I breathed. "Do you have enough information to charge Wade?"

"No," Tonks continued. "That's why Harry wanted to talk to you."

"Tonks." Harry broke in. They exchanged another look; Harry looked extremely frustrated.

"It wasn't about treating the Weasleys?" I asked. Maybe if I kept them talking they'd forget to be guarded. Of course, that never worked with Hermione. "What was it about?" They looked at each other again. "All right, I'll stop asking. Just tell me this: why didn't you take them to St. Mungo's?"

"We couldn't be sure Wade's men weren't there," Tonks said, "and we haven't been doing this with approval."

"Approval?"

"Ministry approval." Harry said. "We think Wade might be tolerated by the Ministry."

"I'm not sure what we're talking about anymore, guys." I mulled, looking at them. How did they think two Aurors could take on an organization big enough to get into the Ministry and St. Mungo's? With two members of the Weasley family? "Just how big is this?"

"We don't know," Tonks sighed, "and we thought you might help us find out." Harry scowled at her.

"How?" I asked. "By going through St. Mungo's?"

"No," Tonks said, "by going through _PlayWizard_."

"But you're not going to do that." Harry's tone was nearly belligerent, and it got a rise out of me.

"Oh I'm not?"

"It's dangerous. They're already looking for spies." Harry had a point, but I was no longer in the mood to hear it.

"I don't think they'll find one of their half-naked girls very threatening." I snorted.

"It's too soon, and you're no Auror." Harry shot back.

"How much time do you have to wait?" I sneered.

"Enough for you to think about it," Tonks interrupted. The amused look on her face broke into my temper tantrum. For a fleeting moment it occurred to me just how many of my personality flaws I'd shown to the savior of the wizarding world—and all in an afternoon. Great, Arthur.


	9. A Pair of Reversals

**A Pair of Reversals**

I'd nearly fallen asleep in my chair when I first heard one of the men stir. His formerly broken right arm arced over his head to cover his eyes before I made it to the side of his bed. "Hold still, please." I commanded. "This is Anna again. I'm going to remove the bandages you don't need." I shot a quick charm at him while I turned to get a vial of pain potion. By the time I turned back he'd sat up.

"Bugger..." he groaned, "hurts."

"It should. Get back in your bed, please." He looked at me like he planned to be difficult. Great. "This potion will help with the pain, but you'll need to stay still until your skin finishes closing." He looked annoyed. "I'd rather not have to restrain you."

"Sure you wouldn't." He muttered. Oh, they all think that's funny.

"Drink this please." I pressed the vial into his hands. He held onto it, but didn't swallow it.

"Where's Harry?" I could hear the other man stir behind me.

"Here, George." Harry said. The man looked at me and lowered his head. I was forcibly reminded of a horse getting ready to buck.

"Th'hell's Fred?" George swung his head to the left to see past us. He started to rise—a bad idea on his newly-healed ankle.

"Don't." I commanded. I turned to Harry. "Get the potion down him and keep him horizontal. Bind him if you have to."

"George?" Fred's weak voice barely carried across the room. I hurried to him.

"Fred, this is Anna again. I need to run some checks on you and give you a pain potion. Respond if you can." I started the charm to loose his unnecessary bandages and gripped his wrist to check his pulse the muggle way. Weak. Way too weak.

"Who's Anna?" I could see his brow wrinkling as the bandages from his head unwrapped themselves.

"I'm Anna. I'm a healer. Harry and Tonks brought you here with George. They're all still here." Fred's forehead relaxed. I ran another basic diagnostic. Where the hell was he still losing blood? That's all it could be—why else would his blood pressure be so low?

"Tired."

"I know. I need to give you another potion before you sleep." No further trauma showed up on the scanning spell. How the hell? Where was all his blood? His eyes were still closed, and I could begin to see his pupils move beneath his lids. "Fred." I called. His pupils slowed. "Fred; wake up for me." His eyes cracked slightly, and the tendons of the wrist I was holding twitched. "Fred; where are you in pain?"

"Pain?"

"Yes. Tell me where you are in pain now."

"Stomach." His breath was coming in pants and sighs from the exertion of speaking. I pushed the blanket down from the skin of his stomach, taking some unwrapped bandages off as well. I choked back the fervent desire to curse. I'd originally thought the injury was a burn, but it no longer looked right. Even more telling: it was cool to the touch.

"Fred. Stay awake." I could tell he was trying; his eyelids were twitching. "You were hit with a freezing spell?"

"Yes," he breathed. Harry had moved to the head of Fred's bed. The vial from George's pain potion dangled uselessly in his fingers. From what I was seeing, I believed someone had hit the poor man with a freezing spell that impacted his liver, compromising his blood circulation. I'd read about patients with this battle injury. A blood replenishing potion killed them in an ugly, ugly way.

"Fred. I can't give you a pain potion until I've reversed the freezing spell. Can you sleep?"

"Yes." He said. I ran a palm over his forehead without really thinking about what I was doing. It's a wonder he'd been conscious at all.

"Good. Go to sleep for me." I turned to Harry. "I'll need you to help me. His torso has to stay completely still." Harry nodded. I'd read about this therapy, but hadn't had to do it. I'd only used the technique in healer training, actually—years ago now. Enough of that, Arthur. Focus. The treatment required me to raise the temperature of his body with a spell focusing on the upper abdomen. The spell had to work gradually, but result in a low-grade fever. I took a deep breath.

"Have him?" I asked. Harry nodded. I started the spell. The light of the spell entered his body where the initial damage had been done. Very slowly I could see it begin to work. I strengthened the spell. The flesh of his initial wound began to bleed. I strengthened the heat again. The tone of his undamaged skin began to look better. I strengthened the final time, knowing the spell would singe more skin from the initial wound. I could feel Tonks behind me, watching. Finally, I ended the spell. To my great relief, the wound continued to bleed out. "You can release him," I said to Harry.

"Right," Harry said. He sank into a chair. The smell of the wound was back full force. I debrided the area and bandaged it as fast as I could, leaving an area open to check temperature. I summoned a chair and collapsed into it at Fred's bedside, exhausted but still reading the pulse at his wrist.

"Anna." Harry said. "What was that?" I turned to look at him. He was pale. For crying out loud, Arthur, he's an Auror not a healer. Tonks also looked shaken. Neither of them knew you weren't killing him, Arthur. Good job.

"He was," I started. I cleared my throat and started again. "His liver had been hit with a freezing spell. That lowered his blood pressure and nearly starved his body of oxygen." Harry's jaw muscles twitched.

"He could've died." Tonks said.

"He could have." I agreed. "But he's recovering. The damage from that wound will make him feel weak and off-balance for a while, but I think there wasn't permanent damage." I paused to check Fred's temperature. Good. There's the fever I wanted. "I'll need to monitor both of them for the next four hours or so. After that I don't want them out of the care of a healer. Especially Fred."

"Anna, you're asleep on your feet." Tonks said. "You won't make it four hours."

"I will." I contradicted, blinking hard. That spell's always taxed my energy. I was worn out. In the end, Tonks was right. I fell asleep in my chair with my head on the bed by Fred's wrist. An hour later Harry shook me awake.

"Tonks has gone to get supper from the Leaky." He glanced at each twin in turn. "Neither one's been awake."

"Th—Thanks for waking me." I yawned. I blinked and rubbed the back of my hand across my eyes. I swayed when I stood, and Harry grabbed my elbow and waist to steady me. For a moment I peered at him, confused. "Thanks," I said, stepping toward George's head. "The pain potion ought to have worn off by now. Don't know why he's still asleep." I ran a general diagnostic over him, checking his pulse out of paranoia. Just as I expected. Nothing left but aches and pains. I turned to Harry. "He should rest, but he's fine. He'll feel like he's fallen off a horse for a while—he can take whatever muscle pain potions he's got around if he wants."

"He'll know what that's like," Harry said, "he and Fred were beaters for Gryffindor."

"Then I'll give him my speech about staying off his broom for a week." I declared. Harry chuckled. The general diagnostic on Fred was a great relief. All it showed was a fever. I had to wake him up, unfortunately, to get more information. "Fred." I called. "Wake up for me, Fred." Nothing. "Fred; it's Anna. I need you to wake up."

"That won't work," contributed a voice from the other bed. I jumped. "Allow me."

"Sorry?" I turned to question George, who'd sat up to level his wand at his twin's head. "What're you—" I blurted, but he'd already acted. A stream of water hit Fred squarely between the eyes.

"Faugh—bloody—gah!" Fred twisted his head toward George, eyes wide and annoyed. "Bloody wanker!"

"Oi! Not in front of the lady, Fred," George teased. Looking at their laughing faces I experienced a genuine qualm. This situation was no longer in my control. No, no it wasn't. "You must excuse my other half. He sometimes confuses himself with our poor brother Ron." I blinked. Harry snickered.

"Ah. Okay." I stammered. Business, Arthur. Back to business. "Fred, are you still in pain?"

"Only the pain of having you so far from me." He batted his eyelashes. Harry gave up on stifling his laughter and guffawed aloud. Fred grabbed at my hand and batted still more furiously. I swallowed hard, trying not to giggle like a moron.

"Focus, Fred." I said in my best stern healer voice, snatching my hand back. "I need to know about the wound on your stomach." I pulled the sheets back. He hissed as they moved over the skin. "How's the pain?"

"It's there." He grimaced. I shot a local numbing spell at the skin.

"Now?"

"Not as much."

"No deeper pain? If it's serious it'll feel like stabbing that radiates to other parts of the abdomen." He shook his head. "If there's nothing, I need you to try to sit up."

"Right." He lifted his head and shoulders; I bent to steady him as he made the attempt. I could see the pain in his face. "Bugger." He hissed.

"Is the pain in your muscles, or deeper down?"

"Muscles." He bit out. I lowered him back to the bed.

"Good." I retrieved a vial of pain potion. "Swallow all of this and sleep as long as you can. I'll tell you more about what I've done when you wake up."

"Right," he said, clearly tired. After he was asleep and Tonks had returned with food, I brought up an idea that had been bothering me since I realized what was wrong with Fred.

"As I said, they should both just need rest from this point forward," I said. "But that's no guarantee." I looked at Harry and Tonks as sternly as I could. "I want you to be in close contact with a healer who knows what's happened to them for the entire length of their recovery. In Fred's case, that will take a week. If you won't use St. Mungo's, you need to find another way." They exchanged a look.

"Poppy's in France," Tonks said.

"St. Mungo's is out. We couldn't explain." Harry said. I sighed.

"I can't hide them at Hogwarts, but I can be in contact." I offered. Something was trying to make its way back to the front of my brain, though—something that would ruin that plan. Oh yeah. "Damn. I was going to be out of town for the next week." They both winced. Guess Idaho can wait, eh? "Oh, never mind. I can postpone my trip."

"Well, if you're expected…" Tonks started. Harry gave her a don't-screw-this-up look and she stopped.

"No, I'm not. I was just visiting home for a while. I can do that later." Why am I going to do it later? Oh yeah—anything for work. Healthy attitude, Arthur. "I think only Severus knows I'm supposed to be gone, apart from Abby in the infirmary."

"Do you think," Harry paused and turned to face me squarely, "you could leave as though you were going ahead with your plans?"

"Sorry?" I thought I was supposed to stay?

"I mean leave like you're going home, but stay here and look after the twins." Harry clarified.

"That way there's not so much explaining to do." Tonks nodded. "But she can't stay here."

"They'll stay at Grimmauld Place." Harry announced. "That's easy enough."

"Hold it." I cut in. "They don't need a live-in healer, they just need periodic checks. And why should we go to some special location for a week?"

"You see," Tonks started, "we'd rather not…"

"We'd rather keep this secret." Harry finished.

"I see." I mulled for a moment, but there wasn't actually much to consider. They're Ginny's brothers. They need a healer. End of story. "Should I just come back here with my things?"


	10. Deals with the Racketeers

**Deals with the Racketeers**

"Oi! Anna." Fred bellowed.

"Yeah?" I was sprawled on an ancient four-poster with my ankles crossed against a bed post and my head hanging off the edge of the mattress. I blinked at Fred and George, whose identical faces looked extremely improbable upside-down.

"When's a door not a door?"

"When." I sighed. I knew this one.

"When it's ajar." George groaned dramatically. During the three days we'd already spent in the depressing former Order Headquarters we'd all done a lot of groaning. Yes, it started before the bad joke competition.

"Hey George," I started.

"What." He asked in a tone that communicated how much he didn't actually want to know.

"A rope walks into a bar. Bartender says 'get out—we don't serve ropes here.' The rope walks around the corner and ties himself, then unravels his ends a little. He walks back into the bar. The bartender says 'hey—I told you: we don't serve ropes here. Aren't you that rope?' And the rope says 'No, I'm afraid not.'" Silence. "Get it? A frayed knot?" They groaned, and Fred hurled a pillow at my head.

"Oi Fred," George said. "What did the fly say when he saw the splattered mosquito on the car windshield?"

"What." Fred played along with an utter lack of enthusiasm.

"Guess he won't have the guts to do that again." George deadpanned. I cackled. George sat up and pumped a fist in the air. "Congratulate me, my less charming twin."

"Well played, my less intelligent half."

"Oh knock it off, you two." I scowled. I'd forgotten we were playing for stakes. "What did I just lose?"

"Only the freedom to deprive us of your company this evening, Anna dear." George grinned.

"How's that?" I hadn't gone anywhere in days. Deprive them of my company?

"We are going to celebrate the day of my release with a game of Truth or Dare."

"What?" I shrieked, righting myself and glaring at George. "Why do you get to leave?" Under the terms of my agreement with Harry and Tonks I was staying in the house for the week I'd told Severus and Abby I'd be in America. Fred couldn't move for a week, so I knew he'd be with me—but why did George get out of jail and not me?

"You're supposed to be in America, remember?" George batted his eyelashes at me. Not for the first time since we started sharing a room, I wanted to punch him. "I, however, am not. I'm supposed to be on a business trip."

"Oh fine," I said, not caring about how petulant I sounded.

"Cheer up, Anna." Fred soothed, mockingly. "I won't leave you." Despite myself, I chuckled.

"Nothing against you guys, but really—this place is depressing." I said, settling my back against the headboard.

"It used to be worse, if you believe it." George contributed. "So how about it? Truth or Dare?"

"Hold on." I said, holding up a hand. "It'll be a few days yet before Fred should really be out of bed. No strenuous dares, okay?" The tiniest flicker of worry appeared to cross George's face. If I hadn't been looking him in the eye I'd have missed it.

"If you say so." George said. Fred nodded.

"Well, shall we?" Fred enthused.

"After you, brother mine." George gestured flamboyantly at Fred. I snickered. Fred turned to me, a calculating look on his face.

"Anna. Truth or Dare?" I looked at their eager faces and felt the kind of fear I remember feeling walking into my first day of wizarding school. It was the they'll-all-find-out-I'm-not-one-of-them fear. It's a feeling I hate. Honestly, it's why I became a healer. With healer training you're prepared to take control of situations other people—pureblood or extremely powerful though they might be—can't handle. And they don't question you. You're just a healer. They expect you to belong and to be in control. Social situations are never, ever, like that. I gulped.

"Truth." Breathe, Arthur, breathe.

"What's going on between Snape and our Hermione?" Fred locked eyes with me. I couldn't cover my stunned expression.

"That's—That's not mine to tell," I blurted, "and I can't! I don't know anything more than what I think I've figured out!"

"And what's that?" George pressed.

"Oh all right." I caved. "But you'd better believe I don't actually know what's going on. Hermione doesn't tell me anything."

"Fine." Fred said with a bland look pasted on his face.

"She's gone with him to a dinner during Christmas; the one at your sister's. They also went to the same ball, but I'm not sure they went together." I hoped they'd just take that.

"And?" Fred stretched his arms up and folded his hands behind his head. I grimaced.

"Well. I think Hermione's interested. I don't—it's really hard to tell. I don't think she'll act on anything, though. With anyone. With the marriage law—everyone knows she needs to marry. If she dates someone you know they'll think she's just trying to get married." I winced. "It's awful. I mean, it is for her especially. I think she's lonely at Hogwarts with no one as intelligent as she is." I paused to think of ways to word the next disclosure. "And as far as Severus goes—all I know is that he respects her."

"He damn well better." George grunted.

"Too right," Fred agreed.

"Am I done?" I tried to keep the note of desperation out of my voice, but failed. They nodded in unison. "All right. George. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare." George said immediately. I could almost hear Severus' voice saying 'Gryffindors' in a sneering tone. I pondered. I could have him do something childish and a little humiliating, but I don't think he'd care. I could, on the other hand, have him do something to help me with the problem foremost in my mind: _PlayWizard_.

"I dare you," I began, "to go on a scavenger hunt. Find any issues of _PlayWizard_ hidden under beds in this house. And don't get caught." George raised an eyebrow at me, but stood and strode toward the door.

"What's that about, then?" Fred asked.

"Just looking into a proposition." I said.

"For the marriage law issue?" He pried. I thought about telling him to mind his own business, but then thought of all the help these two mischief makers could be if I decided to do it. Not least of all in convincing Harry, who told me how dangerous it would be to go after Wade every time I brought it up.

"Yeah." I paused. "I overheard Harry and Tonks talking about the case. They don't have enough to go on."

"Going to save the day, are you?" Fred said blandly.

"No. Hardly." I snorted. "But I might be able to hear something that'll help. I know it'll cause me problems at work. But I might not be there a whole lot longer anyway."

"Why's that?" Fred shifted to face me.

"I don't have anyone to marry. I've only got a few months to go. Then it's over. It won't matter if I posed for _PlayWizard_ if I'm living as a muggle in America, now will it?" The bitterness in my voice surprised me.

"So that's just it. You've given up." George's voice behind me startled me; I hadn't heard him return. The censure in his voice was nearly palpable. I bristled.

"I don't see a way around it." I snapped. "And believe me, we looked."

"That's bollocks, Anna." Fred said. "You can find someone to marry."

"You sound like Severus." I laughed bitterly. "He thinks he can find a pureblood who'll have me." I felt George sit next to me. He set a stack of magazines at his side.

"Didn't tell anyone besides Snape you were leaving, did you?" George accused.

"Everyone knows about the marriage law." I said. I felt a weariness settling on me. There really wasn't another solution, no matter what they said. Either Severus' list of purebloods would work, or nothing would. "And I didn't want to complain." I passed a hand over my face. When I opened my eyes the twins were looking intently at one another, as though communicating.

"Right," Fred said, finally. "We'll help you look for a husband."

"Sorry?" I blinked. What part of 'it can't be helped' did they fail to understand?

"Snape doesn't know all the wizards in England. We'll introduce you to the ones we know." George gave a small push to my shoulder. "All you'll have to do is come to some parties."

"We'll have you married before the month's out." Fred chimed in, voice full of humor again.

"In fact," George said, "give us a month—"

"before you go to PlayWizard." Fred finished.

"Why?" I glanced from one twin to the other, hoping for a clue hidden in their expressions.

"You see—" Fred started,

"Hermione gave us an idea." George continued.

"Disappearing film." Fred announced.

"I don't—what disappears? The film or the picture?" I was stymied.

"That's just it—" George began,

"The film and the picture are normal to the person who took them," Fred said.

"But anyone else who sees the picture will see a flash of the picture, then nothing but black." George explained. I was amazed.

"So anyone who sees the photos would barely be able to recognize anything about them." I thought aloud. "_PlayWizard_ wouldn't even know they'd been had until they tried to show someone the photos!" I grinned wildly.

"Exactly." Fred confirmed.

"And of course you could make a lot selling it later." I continued.

"Of course." George nodded. Impulsively, I slung my arms around his shoulders, sideways.

"You guys are geniuses!" I laughed, letting go of George, who looked a little stunned by the assault on his person.

"It's not finished," Fred explained, "but when it is you might be able to get Tonks to help you spy on Wade at _PlayWizard_."

"Only if I don't tell Harry." I rolled my eyes. They smirked.

"Oh, 'Harry' is it?" George lifted an eyebrow. "First name basis, now, eh?"

"Like I am with you?" I glared.

"No need to get shirty." George put up his hands in a placating gesture. I rolled my eyes again. He handed me the stack of magazines—about six issues of _PlayWizard_. "Your girly magazines, Anna."

"Thank you. I won't tell your mother you knew just where to find them." I smirked.

"You don't know our mother." Fred noted.

"Lucky you." I shot back, turning to the magazines. A busty witch sitting cross-legged in the sand with a towel barely clutched to her chest and her arched back facing the camera peeked over her shoulder at me. "That's not all that bad." I flipped the magazine open. The pages naturally fell to the centerfold, where a completely naked woman sprawled on a couch in a library, dangling reading glasses from a manicured hand. Her other hand crept along the side of her flat stomach. She bit her glamour-charmed lip and peered up through her curled lashes. A strangled bleat came from my throat. "I don't think I could do that with a straight face." I shook my head.

"What?" Fred asked. I looked up to respond and noticed the tips of George's ears had turned pink.

"Look." I turned the photo to Fred, who also went pink at the ears. "I think I'd just laugh." I paused. "Well. Until the humiliation set in." Fred cleared his throat and I realized I still had the woman aimed at him. I snapped the magazine shut and tossed it back on the pile. Great, Arthur. Now they're both completely freaked out. "So, George, I think it's your turn?"

"Indeed it is, Anna." George announced. "Truth or dare, brother mine?"


	11. Girls, Girls, Girls

**Girls, Girls, Girls**

Fred snores. Oh, how he snores. Like the Pacific on the rocks during a vicious storm. Like a chainsaw. No, a pavement saw. I wondered, as I stared at the ceiling waiting for sleep to come, whether some forward-thinking Order member had charmed the ceiling plaster not to crack under the relentless assault of sound waves.

The preceding nights I'd dosed him with a potion to help him sleep, and had inadvertently saved myself the annoyance of listening to his racket. But tonight? No. Tonight he'd declined the potion, and was sleeping like a baby. A loud, loud baby. I stretched my jaw all the way open and worked it from side to side, trying to force my tension headache to relax. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, then let them flip back open. Awake, awake, awake. The snoring continued.

I flipped to face the wall, indulging in an irritated sigh on the way. Something crunched atop the blanket. I felt for the source of the sound. Ah. _PlayWizard_. Perhaps there's something fitting about informing myself about _PlayWizard_ poses in the middle of the night in a strange house. Or there would be if I were a teenaged boy, and wanted to claim I was just reading it for the articles. Heh.

I felt around for the rest of the stack. Once I had them assembled, I swept my bare feet to the floor and slid quietly from the creaking four-poster, stashing my wand under the drawstring of my pajama pants. I took a moment to yank down the hem of my camisole before creeping into the hallway and sliding the bedroom door shut.

Once I was out I lit my wand to make it to the stairs. The absurdity of my situation nearly made me laugh aloud. Yes, Arthur. Here you are, a grown woman, in your pajamas, stealing downstairs in the middle of the night to look at naughty pictures. I tensed my stomach and held my breath to keep from chuckling. Skip the creaking step, watch the corner, don't wake the portraits, and—the light was on in the kitchen. I froze with my hand out to push the door open. Maybe no one was in there? Maybe they'd just left the light on?

Well, Arthur. No guts, no glory. I gave the door a push. And saw Remus sitting at the table with a cup of cocoa. I thought of running.

"Anna?" His quiet voice stopped me. I straightened up and walked through the door as though I wasn't holding a pile of girly magazines.

"Hi Remus." I said. "What brings you here?" Now, I really don't think Remus processed the second sentence. His eyes were glued to the photograph on the cover of the PlayWizard facing him—I was clutching the stack to my stomach as I walked—and a look of mingled alarm and amusement was contorting his normally serious face.

"Anna." He said calmly.

"Yes?" I ventured.

"You have a _PlayWizard_ magazine." His eyes met mine, and I started laughing. Hard. I vaguely saw Remus' head tilt in continued surprise as he gawked at me. My eyes were watering, and I collapsed into a chair across from him throwing the magazines on the table. "Anna?" He called.

"It's…" I cleared my throat trying to stop cracking up. "It's okay, Remus." He nodded, uncertainly. "I'm—the twins—George—oh the hell with it." I tried, then dissolved into panicky giggles again. Remus rose and came around to my side of the table, putting a hand on each of my shoulders. He gave me a slight shake.

"Anna." He said firmly. "Anna."

"I'm—I'm not actually hysterical," I insisted. I coughed a couple times and wiped the tears from my eyes. "I'm really not." I coughed again and turned to face him. "Really, Remus. I'm okay."

"Anna." He looked dubious.

"Really," I said, forcing my face to a slightly more serious expression. "Let me explain." He nodded and returned to his chair, still looking wary. "Okay. I told the twins about the business with _PlayWizard_."

"Right."

"And we were playing Truth or Dare to pass the time, earlier."

"Tell me you didn't, Anna." Remus' earlier horror was fading into amusement.

"No! I mean—yes I played Truth or Dare with the twins, but I didn't allow them to dare me to do anything. I'm not a complete idiot." He inclined his head at me. I continued. "So I dared George to retrieve all the copies of _PlayWizard_ he could find in the house."

"That's how you got them, not why you're here with them at—" he paused, looking at the kitchen clock, "three in the morning."

"Well." I paused, wondering if I really wanted to tell Remus I was considering posing. So long as I said nothing about Wade I figured it wouldn't hurt. "I was thinking about doing it."

"You can't be serious." Remus leveled a professorial gaze at me.

"What's it going to matter, Remus? You know I don't have anyone to marry. I'll be living as a muggle in America in a few months anyway." Without the information about Wade my sudden willingness to consider the idea made no sense at all. Remus' face showed he wasn't buying it. "Besides. I don't know I'm going to do it. I don't even really know what they want me to do. I've never looked through one of these before." I gestured to the magazines.

"So that's what you were going to do under the cover of darkness." Remus smirked.

"Actually that's why I was laughing." I grinned. "I was going to look at them some time tomorrow, but Fred snores like you wouldn't believe. I couldn't sleep, so I came down here. As soon as I saw you I realized how it must look." I chuckled. "I mean, it's like a teenaged boy's nightmare—getting caught by a professor in the middle of the night with a stack of naughty magazines." Remus joined me in a laugh.

"I will have to take house points, but I may be lenient since you're showing such an interest in research, Miss Arthur." He teased. I nearly snorted. His face went slightly more serious. "I ought to warn you that Sirius will find those missing soon enough."

"Augh—don't tell me. Not one more word. No." I shook my head vigorously. Remus laughed. "I'll just dare George to put them back, and I'll never have to think about it again. In fact, I'm not going to think about it right now." I turned with exaggerated primness to my magazines. "Now if you don't mind, I've got work to do."

"I mind." I jumped at the voice behind me. It wasn't one I recognized. I whirled and Remus stifled a laugh behind his mug. "And they aren't mine, Mooney." It was Sirius.

"Well damn, this couldn't be any more embarrassing." I heard that come out of my mouth as I thought it. I wish that didn't happen when I was tired. Sirius threw his head back and laughed heartily before joining us at the table.

"Sirius, this Anna," Remus said, "and Anna, this is the owner of the stack of _PlayWizard_ magazines you've brought."

"They're not mine, Mooney," Sirius insisted. "They're probably George's."

"Perhaps Ron's." Remus said mildly.

"Hermione would've killed him for it." Sirius shook his head. As they argued I flipped open the top issue on the stack, the one with beach scene on the cover. I paused at a set of photos of a woman in lingerie. She wasn't any less clothed than a lot of the women at Miami Beach.

"See anything you like?" Sirius teased, leaning to look over my shoulder. I rolled my eyes at him.

"It's not as raunchy as I thought." I mused.

"So you're considering it." Remus noted.

"I don't know yet." I muttered. But yes, I was considering it—if the twins' film worked. I flipped another page to a layout of a witch stepping out of a pool. I squinted at it. It couldn't be. I frowned.

"Something wrong, there?" Sirius pressed, leaning over my shoulder. I tapped a finger on the witch's bosom.

"She's had a boob job." I declared.

"She's had what?" Sirius blinked at me. I turned the magazine so Remus could see the photograph. He grimaced a bit.

"She's had muggle plastic surgery on her breasts." Sirius looked stunned. I put the photo in front of him and pointed out an unnaturally globular breast. "They put a capsule full of saline or silicone in the breast tissue to make it look larger, and to keep it from sagging." Sirius grimaced; Remus winced. "It's sort of interesting how they do it without losing nerve function in the skin. Anyway—you can tell she's had muggle surgery because you can see the outline of the capsules. Also, if you look under the breast you can see just a little bit of a scar." I put my fingernail where the scar was faintly visible. "See there?"

"Not really—wait." Sirius put his nose nearly to the paper. "Yeah. See, Mooney?" He turned the magazine to Remus, who barely glanced at it before nodding. He pulled the magazine back to himself. "It's not that big of a scar. How do they get the—ah—capsule in there?"

"Incisions," I explained, pulling the magazine between us to show him on the model. "They start here and go up, then there's another here." Sirius nodded eagerly. "The surgeon opens a gap in the tissues, here." I tapped the picture.

"How?" Sirius asked. I wondered how much detail I could give without making him vomit. I've found most wizards don't do well with descriptions of muggle surgery.

"They use tools to go in and lift open a space." Sirius cringed. "She'd be drugged to sleep during all of it," I added quickly. "Once they get the capsule in there, they inflate it. They make sure it's in the right place, then they stitch up the incisions."

"They stitch them!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Just until the skin heals." I nodded to him in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. He looked a little peaked, regardless. Then he started to smirk.

"Do they ever get them in the wrong place?" Sirius wondered. I snickered, and I could see Remus fighting a smile.

"Sometimes." Remus said.

"Probably more than you'd think." I said. "And they settle after the surgery."

"They settle?" Sirius exclaimed.

"Well, more like they descend." I explained. "My stepmother's settled unevenly at first." I snickered. "She looked ridiculous."

"And what were you doing noticing your stepmother's breasts?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. Remus avidly watched the exchange.

"Believe me, they were hard to miss." I defended myself. "First of all, I knew her before her chest inflated. And secondly, since the operation she's looked like she's carrying watermelons." I laughed, remembering her uneven melon-breasts.

"And it helped that you already despised her." Remus added.

"Jack did too." I noted. "My brother," I explained to Sirius.

"As enlightening as this has been," Remus paused to yawn, "I'm going to turn in. Good night."

"I am too," Sirius said. "'Night."

"Good night, you two." I said, turning back to the stack of magazines.

"Remus told me what you were doing." Tonks burst into Fred and my room without preamble. Fred perked up immediately when it looked like I was about to be scolded. "You and I need to talk."

"Privately?" I asked. She looked serious.

"Now." She gestured toward the door. I followed her to the kitchen.

"George told me about the film they're developing. He said they'd got you to promise you'd wait until it was finished." She looked at me, obviously expecting a response. I nodded mutely, cowed by the serious, professional Auror Tonks. "You have to, Anna. If you give it a month we'll have time to plan. I can go in with you—maybe as a photographer to use the film." I nodded again. "Anything else would be stupid."

"You mean anything sooner than a month?" I asked.

"No. Anything without my help and Harry's help. Anything without a plan and backup." She stared me in the eye.

"So you're going to wait a month?" I asked.

"We're getting information." She paused and appeared to consider her next comments. "We'll get more if we can find a way for you to do this without getting killed."

"I know," I butted in, "and that's why I should do it."

"Listen to me, Anna." Tonks' voice went hard. "You'll make yourself useless to Harry and me if you so much as communicate with anyone from _PlayWizard_ without planning it with us first. So don't. Do you understand?" I nodded.

"Does this mean you've talked Harry into considering it?" I ventured.

"It means I will." Tonks grinned for the first time since we started talking. I nearly sighed with relief.

"So Remus told you about my explanation of muggle boob jobs?" I smirked.

"Your what?" Tonks sputtered.

"I explained boob jobs to Sirius as we looked at _PlayWizard_. Ask Remus." I put on an exaggeratedly innocent face. Tonks laughed.

"That's why Sirius was asking about stitches." She shook her head. She stood and narrowly avoided hooking her foot on a chair leg as she rounded the kitchen table. "I'll ask Remus about it," she called as she headed for the front door.


	12. President Lincoln Says

**President Lincoln Says**

"Miss Arthur." I flew out of my bed, slamming my feet to the floor and grabbing my wand. I could nearly hear my heart beating, and I felt sure whoever just spoke to me could hear it too.

"Who are you?" I turned toward a person-sized shadow beyond the faint light of the window. The shadow stepped forward and coalesced into a man: a black robe, black gloves, black hair, and a pale face. Severus. "Holy Mary, Severus, you scared the hell out of me."

"Just as you say, Miss Arthur." The smallest lift at one corner of his mouth showed his amusement at my floundering. I glanced toward Fred's sleeping form—and failed to find it.

"Now where…" I muttered.

"Mr. Weasley was in the kitchen when I arrived." Severus intoned. Yes, that's what he does. He intones. I wiped a hand over my face, and noticed my forehead had broken a sweat during my momentary fright. I tugged my tank top back down over my stomach and hiked the waistband of my pajama pants back into place.

"Maybe we should join him." I blinked hard, trying to force my limbs to wake up and move.

"Mr. Potter already has."

"Oh fuck." I blinked a few more times. "Fuck." Boy did I not want to see Harry at four in the morning while wearing my garden gnome pajamas. "Could you wait for me in the hall for a minute?"

"Of course." Severus' shadow moved across the room and out the door. I shot a locking charm at the latch after he was gone, then dressed in the first clothes I could find. I wandered out of the room, still pulling up the zipper on my sweatshirt. He motioned for me to follow him.

He led us down a back staircase and into the back garden, then around the house to the street. We walked to the end before I felt like talking—heck, before I even felt awake. "I know a twenty-four hour place across town," I offered. Severus just nodded. I latched onto him to apparate us, deciding not to think about the fact that I was grabbing Severus Snape.

We took a table toward the back of the café. Severus just seemed thankful the place wasn't muggle, and didn't even comment about the loud drunks. In fact, he hadn't commented much since rousting me from my sleep. I sat with my fingers wrapped around my mug and waited for him to explain himself.

"You were not involved in the war, Miss Arthur." He began.

"Not really." Where were we going with this? "I didn't have most of my healer training yet. I worked at a shelter for women and children. I never fought; I patched people up." I took a sip of my coffee and shook the images of the kids from the shelter out of my mind. "I'm aware of some of what you did."

"As many are." He ran a long finger around the rim of his cup, pausing at a chip. "Miss Arthur, you are no liar."

"What?" I blurted.

"You were not in Idaho. You did not travel to America. You were in Grimmauld Place the entire time you were not at Hogwarts." His eyes pinned me; I sucked my lower lip into my mouth.

"You're right." Oh the hell with it, I thought. Severus doesn't care enough to try to stop me from doing what I'm going to do. "I was. I didn't make that decision until after I spoke with you, though." I shifted my grip on my mug. "And I can't tell you why I stayed because it isn't my secret."

"It's Potter's." He stated, his voice low.

"And a few others.' It's not mine. I've got to ask you not to ask me any more." I tried to look him dead in the eye, but found it nearly impossible. I was relieved when he inclined his head, signaling his willingness to drop the matter. I took another sip of my coffee. "Why did you ask about my involvement in the war?"

"Because you cannot lie." He switched his gaze to the plate glass window onto the empty street.

"My father used to quote Lincoln, the American president, about lying." Severus turned back to me. "I can't remember the real quote, but it was something about not trying to lie unless you could remember every single thing you'd ever said. Otherwise you're bound to contradict yourself and get caught." Severus inclined his head. "I've got the memory of a hamster, Severus. I wouldn't have a prayer." He gave a grim smile.

"Yet you propose to pose for _PlayWizard_, in the guise of a completely different woman." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I would do so under my own name, as the original offer states."

"Your name, perhaps, but not yourself," he demurred.

"What are you saying, exactly?"

"I am saying that your plan to entrap Wade will require you to lie far more convincingly than you have shown yourself capable of doing." He sat forward, suddenly towering over the table. "I am saying Tonks and Potter cannot keep you safe if even I could discover your intentions in barely a week of your absence."

"I don't pretend to think it's safe, Severus." I glared.

"But do you recognize that it's foolish?" He glared back.

"How did you find out?" I snapped.

"I am the head of Slytherin, and you are plotting with Gryffindors." He smirked.

"That's nothing to me. I'm neither." I grumbled. "Did you just figure out what must've happened?"

"No." He stopped to sip his drink. "Wade's lackeys talk, even if Wade does not." I puzzled. Clearly he wasn't going to tell me what he knew. What would he tell me?

"You think something will happen if I pose." I tried.

"No." He smirked. "I think you will embroil yourself in too great a conflict if you pose to get information about Wade. If you merely pose, you may be in a position to provide useful information."

"I don't understand."

"You are no liar, Miss Arthur." He repeated. "If you try to become one, you will be found out. If you pose as a nervous healer from Hogwarts, you will not be found out."

"I see." I thought of how his advice would play out. It'd certainly be easier than the hazy imaginings I had of trying to act like I belonged in a men's magazine. "If I give them what they expect, they won't pay attention to me."

"Exactly." He sat back in his chair, instantly becoming less intimidating. "You have," he paused, "thought of the consequences of your decision, I assume?"

"I have." I looked out the window for a moment. "And I don't think it will matter. I don't think I'll find someone to marry in time. No one in the muggle world will know or care that I was once in _PlayWizard_."

"Perhaps not," he said. "But you have discounted your friends, the Gryffindors."

"Huh?" I said stupidly.

"Potter. Think, Miss Arthur." I opened and closed my mouth, then looked out the window for a moment. A shopkeeper down two storefronts unlocked the rolling metal shutter over his doors and sent it clattering upward. I shook my head.

"I don't think so." I took the last sip of my coffee. "And anyway, I've decided not to make a final decision for a month." Severus met my eyes for a moment, then pulled a platinum watch from his pocket and flipped it open.

"We should return."

"We should," I agreed. I started to slide down the bench to the aisle of the café, but stopped to frown down at my lap.

"Something amiss, Miss Arthur?" Severus stood at the end of the table.

"I don't think these are my pants." Severus' face twisted comically. "I found them on the floor. I think they're Fred's."

"Perhaps you'd like to…" his face twisted further, "return them?"

"Yes." I stood and put some coins on the table. "Shall we?"


	13. Contagion in Close Quarters

**Contagion in Close Quarters**

I hadn't left the infirmary for the first two weeks of term. I really hadn't. I'd been eating there, hitting myself with freshening charms in lieu of bathing—you get the point. The convergence of students from all the places they lived had produced a resistant, highly infectious magical flu that felled students right and left. Severus lived in his lab like I lived in the infirmary, and Hermione hadn't taken long to decide she ought to join him and help produce healing potions. They'd come in twice a day together, bedraggled but suspiciously happy.

Needless to say, I was dying from the inability to share my suspicions that they were snogging. But with whom would I share such a thing? Hermione herself was out. So was Ginny, the bigmouth. Neville'd just have a nervous breakdown when I mentioned Severus. I'd also rejected Remus: too likely to tell Black.

I jerked my thoughts back to the four remaining students in my wing when Abby called me to the floo. Severus' head floated in the flames, his face grim.

"What happened?" I demanded.

"Hermione has been fainting. She refuses to admit she is ill." His voice was tight with annoyance. "I am sending her through the floo. Do not allow her to return to my lab."

"Wait." I commanded. "Give me the duration of her symptoms from what you've observed, please. She won't tell me all of them herself."

"Troublesome woman," Severus groused. "She has fainted four times this morning. She fainted first last night, just before dinner. I believe she did not keep dinner down." He grimaced. "This morning she took Pepper-Up potion."

"Is she running a temperature?"

"How should I…" He started, then snapped his mouth shut. "She has complained of warmth for the last two days. She has kept her hair up, and has not been wearing her robe." I struggled not to raise an eyebrow.

"Thank you, Severus." I prepared a landing space for Hermione, who I'd started to suspect Severus had stunned. "I'd like you to give your lab the most thorough cleaning possible and to dose yourself with muggle vitamin C, please." I paused, wondering if it was wise to continue to test his patience. Damn the torpedoes! "And tell me if you develop any symptoms. I'll give you treatment instructions."

"Very well."

"I'm ready for her." Hermione's unconscious body barreled out of the floo moments later. He had stunned her. I allowed myself to giggle a while before waking her.

I'd prepared a curtained area around a larger bed near a window and put her there. I hoped she'd take the special bed as a peace offering and decide to be docile, but I knew the odds were poor unless she really felt terrible. Taking a final deep breath I woke her up. Her eyelids slowly cracked open. "Anna?" She asked in a thick voice. "Are you in the lab with me?"

"Nope." I summoned a vial of sleeping draught and a potion to fix the rattle I could hear in her lungs. "We're in the hospital wing, where you're going to stay and let me take care of you."

"I don't need…" she started to sit up, then sank back.

"Yes you do." I said firmly. "I'm the expert and I say so."

"You're enjoying this." She accused.

"Not really." I said. "You've let this go a little longer than I wish you had." I showed her the vials of potion. "Now I need you to take this potion for the congestion in your chest—which I can hear all the way over here—and I need you to take the second one for sleep. Don't you dare try to fight me on this."

"Oh all right." She said crossly, but weakly. She took the potions without any further protest. I handed her a glass of water.

"Is everything all right for you to sleep?" She nodded, trying to focus her eyes on me. "I'm going to have Abby check on you while I'm in Hogsmeade getting more supplies, but I'll be back by tonight."

She nodded drowsily, then allowed her eyelids to close. I tugged her sheet and blanket up a little farther, noticing that she already was missing her shoes and robe. I smiled to myself, picturing Severus removing Hermione's shoes. I put my face back into a neutral expression and emerged from the curtains, then cast a ward to keep the area quiet.

"Abby?" I called. Her head popped out around the far set of curtains. "I'm going to go to Hogsmeade for supplies, if that's okay with you."

"Sure," she called. "And could you grab some chocolate from Honeydukes? I think there ought to be a consolation for all the time they've spent here."

"Really good idea. I'll do it." I slung a scarf around my neck and pulled my cloak on over my Hogwarts healer robes. I started to head out, then reconsidered and headed to the floo to call Severus.

"Severus?" I called. "Severus?" I could vaguely hear shuffling in another room, then saw him walking briskly toward the floo, his robes off and his sleeves rolled up. I was momentarily shocked by his state of undress—well, more accurately his unbuttoned state—and I think it showed on my face.

"Yes?" He snapped.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade for supplies. Do you need anything?"

"No," he said, then seemed to reconsider for a moment. "No thank you."

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm…" He glared, then his face softened slightly. He looked nervous. "Please tell Miss Granger that I regret stunning her."

"I will." I swiftly closed the connection so I could grin like a fool. Severus and Hermione sitting in a tree, I sang in my head. I barely suppressed the desire to bounce in place.

A chill wind picked up my robes and cloak as I walked out of Honeydukes with a pile of chocolate and sugar quills. Hermione didn't need to know about these, I mused. Those dentist parents of hers really made an impression on her. Thinking about her tooth lectures I smiled as I walked down the street.

"Happy to see us, Anna?" I barely had time to blink out of my musing before the twins had flanked me, each slinging an arm around me and relieving me of my packages.

"Speechless, I'd say, Fred." George peered down at me, smiling.

"Right you are, George." Fred added. "It is understandable."

"I can't escape you, can I, boys?" I smiled.

"Boys?" George blustered.

"You have the pleasure of walking with two of the most wanted bachelors in Britain, Miss Arthur!" Fred gestured wildly with his free hand.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Indeed," George continued, "my other half does not lie." They guided me around a turn and toward their shop. "In fact, we'll show you the magazine."

"Magazine?" I asked as we crossed the threshold of 3W. They walked me up to the counter, where George brandished a copy of _Witch Weekly_ at me. "Oh ho ho," I crowed, "Britain's twenty-five hottest bachelors."

"We are, aren't we George." Fred mused, batting his eyelashes like a thirteen-year-old girl.

"What does Mother Weasley have to say about this?" I laughed.

"We think she's restraining her excitement for the sake of our less-hot siblings." George mused.

"Who are the other twenty-three?" I asked.

"Oh, there are a few names you'll recognize." Fred said.

"And we'll tell you if you join us for lunch." George continued. "You could use some meat on your bones." He grinned, then reached down and tickled my ribs. I squealed, jumping toward him to avoid his hand.

"It seems she's already selected her favorite hottest bachelor, George." Fred teased.

"Try not to mourn, Fred." Between them I fought the blush starting in my cheeks.

"Quit it, you two." I ordered. "Where are you taking me to lunch?" I batted my eyelashes at them, imitating Fred.

We settled at a corner table in the Three Broomsticks, and George brought out the magazine. I sat between them, perusing the glamour shots of the twins. They are handsome men, but so help me if I'd ever let them know I thought so. I smiled to myself. I looked back up at the twins to see George's attention focused on an adorable blond standing near the door.

"Who's that?" I elbowed him.

"It's Katie." Fred answered in a low voice. "George's been after her since Hogwarts."

"Should we invite her over?" I muttered to him. He gave me a half smile. George remained oblivious, watching her unwind a scarf from her neck.

"Oi Katie!" Fred shouted. She looked around for a moment, then saw us and grinned broadly. She had a tiny chip in one of her top teeth that showed when she smiled. That's it, I thought, she's officially the cutest thing I've ever seen. She greeted the boys happily and agreed to join us. I decided to meddle.

"Hey George," I said, "Let Katie in between us. I think she needs to see your moment of triumph as much as I do." I brandished the magazine. George looked nervous, but got up and let Katie slide down the seat next to me. Fred elbowed me lightly. I put the magazine between myself and Katie, and flipped to the start of the article. "Behold the Weasley glory," I teased.

Katie looked at the pictures of Fred and George like a woman looks at photos of something she can't have. She looked happy, and ready to joke with us, but wistful. Every so often her eyes would stray to George's freckled hand resting on the table in front of her; then she'd blink and look away. I wondered if I'd been cruel to ask her to look at the magazine. In a spasm of self-doubt I flipped ahead to the next bachelor, making some crack about shopping for a husband.

"Sirius Black?" Katie asked. She turned to me. "Surely you're kidding."

"I didn't know he was next!" I protested. "I don't even know who's on the list!"

"There's got to be someone better." She said matter-of-factly, flipping past the picture of a winking Sirius Black leaning against a brick wall. "Oh, ew." She said to the next name, one I didn't recognize. The next several got the same treatment. "Oliver's in here?" She looked up at George for confirmation, a delighted look on her face.

"Yeah," George managed. His ears were coloring.

"How do you three know," I consulted the magazine, "Oliver Wood?"

"He was the quidditch captain while we were all on the team," Fred explained.

"You all played?" I turned toward George. "What positions?"

"Fred and me were beaters; Katie was a chaser." George explained. "Then Katie played professionally for a while." Katie shook her head. I looked at her curiously.

"I was always in the reserves." She said humbly.

"Shouldn't have been." George insisted. Fred elbowed me again.

"You still haven't told me whether I want to marry Mr. Wood." I teased.

"You'd have to beat his current girlfriend." Katie laughed.

"Well, that's out." I said, flipping the page. And there was Harry Potter, emerging from 3W with a smile on his face, the sun hitting his messy hair. My stomach flipped and I fought to keep my face neutral, thinking of how awful life would get for me if the twins knew about my pointless crush. I started to flip the page, but Katie stopped my hand.

"Harry played with us, too. He played seeker." She half-grinned at me. "You might want to marry that one." The twins snorted.

"I'm sure I'd have to beat his girlfriend, too." I said.

"Harry's not dating anyone." Fred corrected.

"Hasn't for a while." George added.

"And he could use a healer around, being an Auror." Fred mused.

"Too right," George said, "especially one like our Anna." He reached around Katie and patted me on the back. I fought the urge to squirm. Katie looked at me keenly for a moment.

"We're agreed," she said, "that Harry makes the short list." I took a nervous drink of my butterbeer and forced a smile onto my face as Katie turned the page.


	14. Snake Charmer

**Snake Charmer**

That night was the first I spent outside the infirmary since the contagion began. I fell asleep on my face, fully clothed, but in my own bed. And it was fabulous. I even went to breakfast in the great hall the next morning. I was so perky I was even starting to annoy myself, but my pride in my surprise for Hermione was too great to allow my mood to dampen. It also helped that I had an owl from Jack containing a drawing from Max, specifically addressed to me, that showed me wearing very tall boots and holding a gigantic snake.

"Who's Max?" Remus asked, peering at the drawing I'd left next to my plate.

"He's the young son of my brother's girlfriend." I poked a finger at the figure on the paper. "And that's me."

"How flattering." Remus chuckled.

"May I see it?" I started at the deep voice behind me. I turned to see Harry Potter joining us at the head table. My puzzlement must've shown. "The Headmistress asked us to take Hermione's classes today." I mutely handed him the drawing. He grinned. "Nice boots."

"Oh hush." I swatted playfully at him to cover my sudden nervousness. I could feel Remus watching us interact. "You're only covering for Hermione today?"

"Yeah," a new voice answered. I peered around Harry to see Ron filling his plate with food. "We're supposed to talk about our careers."

"Hermione won't be ready to teach again for a few days." I worried aloud.

"The plan is to have representatives of different careers for each day." Remus explained. "Fred and George are supposed to be in tomorrow. I'm sure they'll call you in on it soon enough, Anna."

"Fine by me," I said, "as long as Hermione stays in my care as long as I say she needs to be." I took my last swallow of coffee and stood, brushing my hands down my robes. "See you at lunch." I nodded to the three men and headed to the infirmary to see my patient.

I found Hermione sitting up with her new copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. Her curls were flying out of the twist she'd tried to secure with her wand, and her small frame looked even smaller in the enlarged bed. I smiled fondly.

"Anything new and interesting?" I asked brightly, stepping past the wall of curtains.

"Not yet," she said. Her voice was clearer than the day before, but I could still hear a whisper behind her breath. "Did you see Harry and Ron?"

"How did everyone know about that but me?" I wondered aloud, starting the diagnostic on Hermione. "I saw them at breakfast. I'm sure they send their greetings. They were a little busy stuffing their faces to say so."

"Especially Ron, I imagine." Hermione smiled. Her eyes were a little brighter than I like to see. "He's always eaten like he thought he'd never see food again."

"I didn't notice. I was sitting between Harry and Remus." I recast the diagnostic for specific information about her lungs. "Deep breath for me?" She complied, and the diagnostic showed the improvement I'd hoped for. "That's more like it. You're on the mend."

"Then I can care for myself from here out, surely." She tried.

"No. I need to watch your recovery, Hermione." I sat in the chair next to her bed. "I know you hate it, but I have to take anything having to do with your lungs very seriously." She nodded. She and I both knew she'd taken severe injuries to the lungs during the war, and that any complications could become massive in very little time. "Oh! I wanted to show you two things." I pulled Max's drawing from my pocket and handed it to her. "It's supposed to be me."

"Nice boots." She said.

"That's exactly what Harry said."

"And what're you holding? An eel?" She handed the paper back to me.

"No, it's a big snake. Jack explained it in his letter. Apparently Max has invented a story about my life that involves me training snakes." I smiled.

"You should tell Severus." Hermione teased.

"Speaking of whom," I paused dramatically, securing a copy of _Witch Weekly_ in my hand, "I have brought you something Severus would hate." I brought the magazine out with a flourish.

"What in the world?" She pondered aloud as she read the headline. "Britain has 'hot bachelors,' does it?" She laughed.

"According to them. They've even provided photographs for evidence." I chuckled as she started flipping to the article.

"Oh my goodness!" Hermione exclaimed, dropping the magazine. She looked up at me, grinning. "The twins? Oh Anna, we'll never hear the end of it."

"Keep going. You'll love the whole thing; I promise." I smiled at her good humor. She was still smiling, but she'd become sleepy as we talked; her eyelids drooped.

"I should check on Severus soon," I said, standing and tucking Max's drawing back into my robes. "I didn't see him at breakfast."

"He's never at breakfast." She muttered.

"Well, either way," I said, "I'm going to floo him before class starts." With that I left her to take the nap that appeared to be overtaking her.

The day passed swiftly with most of my long-term tenants finally out of the infirmary. I even had time to reorganize and restock my stores before lunch. With the help of two young house elves I had the infirmary clean and orderly for the first time in what felt like weeks. Hermione had slept and read all day, making only the minimum attempt to get out of my care. Severus showed no sign of contracting the virus, none of the students got maimed in quidditch practice, and the sun was shining. I only had one problem in the world: half the month was up, and I was no closer to getting married than when I'd started.


	15. Strays

**Strays**

The pounding on my door startled me nearly into falling off my chair, where I'd been dozing by the fire. I got to my feet, still feeling oddly disconnected from my environment, and opened the door. There stood Hagrid, hunched around a bundle of rags that looked—bloody? Harry lurked at his elbow. I motioned them into my study.

"Anna we found him outside; he was crying," Harry started.

"He's hurt something terrible." Hagrid blurted, barely controlling his grief.

"Who?" I demanded. "Who's hurt, and where is he?" Hagrid extended the bundle to me. There in the bloodied folds I could just make out a muzzle. A muzzle? "A puppy, Hagrid?"

"We think a larger animal got him." Harry filled in, patting the half-giant's arm soothingly. "Can you see if you can do anything for him?" With that Hagrid let out a sob. I took the bundle from him and set it on the rug in front of the fire, then slowly peeled the layers of fabric away. The tiny black dog's tongue rested flat against the fabric. His gums were nearly white. I clenched my teeth.

I shrugged out of my robe and shot a sanitizing spell at my hands, then at the dog. I brought up the light level in the room and set to work assessing the damage. No, they didn't teach this in healer training. But you don't grow up around horses, cattle, and dogs without seeing a few horrible things and learning what to do about them. The puppy's breath came in short bursts. I felt along his ribs as they jumped with his breath. None appeared broken. I felt along his spine. Also all right. I turned him.

"Heavens," I breathed. A chunk of skin and muscle was gone from his side, along with way too much blood. I shot the weakest numbing spell I could manage at the wound; then I started cleaning the dead tissue. I was peripherally aware of Hagrid and Harry sitting in my chairs watching me work. As the numbness started to take over for the pain, the puppy's breathing recovered somewhat. Two ribs beneath the bite were cracked, though, and I couldn't tell if he was bleeding into his chest. I began to piece the edges of the wound together and meld the tissue with my wand.

It felt like days of work. Finally I had the wound closed, and the external bleeding stopped. I cleaned him up and set him on my robe. He let out a tiny cry when I moved him, and I held his head in my hands. His nose was still wet and his gums had returned to pink. There wasn't blood on his tongue. If I could just get him hydrated, I could probably trust him to do the rest himself. I transfigured a rag into a shallow dish and filled it with water, then carefully rotated the puppy's head toward the dish so he could drink. I held my breath. He tentatively stretched out his tongue. I heard Harry let out a breath behind me.

"There's a good boy," Hagrid murmured, his voice thick from crying.

"Hagrid," Harry said, "perhaps Anna or I could look after the puppy while he's healing so you won't have to worry about him while you're teaching." Harry had a good point. Hagrid already had care of a zoo full of animals.

"Harry's right, Hagrid." I murmured, trying not to upset the puppy. "You've got your hands full already, and I'll need to be there if he begins to bleed again." From the corner of my eye I could see Hagrid considering the idea of leaving the hurt puppy with someone else.

"I suppose you're right, Harry." Hagrid agreed. "You could just watch him a while, while you're here."

"I'll watch him, and I'll get Anna if he's hurt." Harry reassured. Apparently that was enough for Hagrid, who got to his feet and said his goodbyes. After he'd let himself out, Harry joined me on the floor, where I'd set the puppy's head back down.

"Do you think he'll live?" Harry looked at me seriously.

"I don't know, Harry." I returned his look. "He could be bleeding into his chest. If he is, there's nothing I can really do."

"I see." Harry said, lightly running his finger tips over the back of the puppy's neck. The puppy, tired from his ordeal, hardly twitched at the new contact. Harry's face looked tired and drawn.

"Don't count him out yet," I said. "I'm telling you the worst that could happen. That doesn't mean it will." Harry nodded.

"How are we going to do this?" He asked.

"Sorry?"

"Keep him, I mean. I'm staying down the hall for the week. I can keep him in my room if you want." He offered.

"No," I said quickly, "not tonight at least. Tonight one of us should be awake and with him, and he shouldn't be moved. I've just set those ribs."

"We need to keep him still?" Harry looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. "Right. I can take the first shift watching him if you want to sleep."

"It's a little early for me to fall asleep," I demurred, rolling my shoulders back to pull the kinks out of my neck. Harry watched me intently. "I'd love to get a shower, though." Harry nodded, his eyes a little glazed. I took that as agreement and moved to stand. I stretched my arms over my head when I stood, rising up on my toes to pull the tension out of my joints. Bending over to do that suture had really put a kink in my back.

When I returned to the room Harry had taken off his robe and shoes, and was lounging next to the puppy with his back propped against one of my chairs. I hung in the doorway to my bedroom a moment, preparing myself not to stare at him like a teenager. Come on, Arthur. You're a grown woman. Act like one! I squared my shoulders and walked into my study.

"I can take over for you if you want to sleep," I said quietly. He turned his head slowly to look at me; I couldn't quite figure out the look on his face.

"That's all right," he said. He regarded me steadily. Finally I couldn't take it.

"Is something on your mind?" I blurted.

"Sorry." He smiled. He looked down as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up his forearms. "My mind's on the Wade case."

"Tonks talked to you."

"She did." He leveled his gaze at me again. The day had given him a crop of black stubble outlining his full lower lip.

"She told you I promised not to decide for a month." I prodded.

"Until the twins finish with the film, yes." He kicked one leg straight and raised the other knee, then rested a fist on it. "You also promised you'd notify us before taking action," he added, looking me in the eye. I nodded. "We need to know more about who's working for Wade. That's what you could give us. The more names we know, the more witnesses we can question. It increases our chances of finding someone who'll talk." He looked away to the fire. "You can't be suspected of involvement with a case, Anna. You'd have to go in as a witch who doesn't know what she's getting into by associating with _PlayWizard_." He turned toward me again. "And you've been talking to Snape."

"That's got nothing to do with Wade." I said quickly. He raised his eyebrows. I sighed. "It doesn't. She—Hermione—likes Severus. I think it's mutual. I want her to be happy. I'm meddling. That's it."

"If that's it, why'd you tell me?" He looked at me shrewdly.

"Because I don't want you to think I'm up to something." I blurted. The puppy's leg twitched and he snuffled. Both of us froze. I crept over to the puppy and leaned over his head, leaning on my hands. My hair started to fall forward over my shoulder, and I felt Harry's hand dart out to catch it before the ends fell on the puppy's head. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, holding my hair. I fought to keep my focus on the puppy. "He's all right." I concluded, observing the even rise and fall of his chest. I brought my head up. "Thanks," I said, tossing my head to put my hair behind me. Instead of withdrawing his hand, Harry lightly took hold of my shoulder and traced the line of script from one of my tattoos with his index finger.

"What does it mean?" He asked, withdrawing his hand. I inhaled quickly.

"It's a blessing." I met his eyes as I sat back on my heels. "All of my tattoos are, actually. Well. Except one."

"What's the one?" He gave me a half grin.

"This one. I turned my back to him, holding my hair off my neck. "My American bald eagle. My brother Jack has the same one."

"I can't imagine getting a patriotic tattoo." He said, almost to himself.

"That's because your symbols aren't as cool as ours." I teased.

"Arrogant American," he charged, grinning. I chuckled quietly, moving to a more comfortable sitting position on the floor. "Why do you have so many tattoos?"

"Mostly to make my stepmother cringe, when it started." I answered honestly. "But then I got interested in my heritage, I guess."

"Your heritage," he urged.

"My family's been in America a long time. We're mongrels. Like most Americans, I guess." I let my eyes become unfocused, remembering. "My dad liked researching where we came from. I used to look at his books and study the cultures. I started collecting blessings from each of them while he was still alive. When he died I got them tattooed on my arms. I wanted something I could see, I guess." Harry was watching me talk. I suddenly felt guilty for telling him all that I had. "I'm going on and on. I'm sorry."

"No. I asked." He said. Then he smiled. "It's not like you got drunk and got them on a dare."

"Well," I smiled wryly. "Jack and I were pretty hammered when we got the eagles." I chuckled. "In fact, there's no way I can clean that story up enough to tell it." Harry raised his eyebrows at me, silently urging me to continue. I shook my head. "So, why do you look the way you look?"

"That's easy enough." He shifted his position slightly. "I look almost exactly like my father, but I have my mother's eyes. I have scars from fighting Voldemort, and I have a scar from falling off a broom during a quidditch match." He lifted his wrist to me to show a thin white scar running beneath his thumb and across his wrist. I sucked a little air past my molars at the positioning.

"That's awfully close to a major artery, Harry."

"So I heard." He seemed to stare off in space a moment. "When I woke up Madame Pomfrey gave me a lecture."

"Did you deserve it?" I pried.

"Probably." He gave me a half grin. "I'm sure you give a few of those."

"Now and again." I shrugged. "I know they don't listen. They're kids; they're not going to think of injury." Images of kids from the children's shelter popped back into my mind. I frowned. "They shouldn't have to. That's for us to worry about." I shook my head. "You were a seeker?"

"How'd you know?" He raised his eyebrows at me.

"It shows." I said seriously, then smiled. "I had lunch with Katie Bell and the twins the other day. They told me a little about the Gryffindor team."

"I haven't seen Katie in ages."

"What, no stories about your exploits as a seeker?" I teased. I truly was curious, though. When I cast my mind back over our conversation, I realized I'd done most of the talking. Arrogant American is right.

"I was kept from playing during my final years at school." He said. I could see a flash of bitterness pass his face. I'd stepped in it.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry into your business." I blurted. We sat in uneasy silence for a while—at least, it was uneasy for me. Finally I just had to end it. "Thanks for bringing the puppy to me."

"Eventually you might see me when I don't have a medical emergency," he quipped. I smiled.

"I don't mind." I looked at the puppy, whose sleep seemed peaceful. "He must've been in an awful amount of pain. Poor thing."

"Hagrid was beside himself."

"He's a caring soul, as my mother would say." I mused. "Though he does think some of his creatures are tamer than they really seem to be."

"That's true." Harry nodded. "Malfoy was on the receiving end of a few of Hagrid's creatures." I raised my eyebrows. "You know Buckbeak, don't you?" I nodded. "He took a chunk out of Malfoy's arm when we were in school." Harry smiled.

"Did he deserve it?"

"I'd say so." Harry confirmed. "Malfoy's changed."

"For the better, according to Hermione." I added.

"That's true." Harry nodded. Despite my efforts, I yawned. I started to apologize, but another yawn overtook me. "You should sleep," Harry said.

"Maybe." I blinked hard. "Are you all right watching him?"

"Of course." Harry said. "I'll just be here."

"Wake me when you're tired." I stood. "That's my bedroom over there. Just walk on in, I don't mind." I gestured toward a door. "Oh. And that's the bathroom." I said, gesturing toward the other door. Harry nodded. "Good night, for now."

"Good night, Anna." Harry said. As I turned to leave I saw him lean forward to brush a hand over the tips of the puppy's fur. The tiny dog didn't even stir.


	16. Team Effort

**Team Effort**

"You can't wear that, Anna. It's dowdy." Ginny wrinkled her nose. She was on her stomach on my bed watching Hermione pull potential outfits from my closet. If you know Hermione, you know how unlikely that seems. But the facts are these: the twins were having a party to marry me off that night, I was already a wreck, and Hermione no longer had the flu. Hermione had called in Ginny for support and had started the fashion parade just as soon as the workday ended. And here we were. I punched at the pillow between my lower back and the headboard.

"It's not dowdy, Ginny." Hermione huffed. "It's tasteful."

"She doesn't need tasteful." Ginny protested. The puppy wandered to the side of the bed near me and looked up at me hopefully. I'd named him Byron for his curly black hair. Severus sneered every time he heard it.

"What d'ya say, Byron?" I asked, gently lifting him onto the coverlet beside me. "Should we just walk in naked? Truth in advertising?" Byron licked at my nose.

"Anna. This would be a lot easier if you had a better attitude." Hermione scolded. I winced.

"I know." I admitted. "I'm sorry, guys." Ginny reached over and patted my ankle.

"My brothers won't let anything terrible happen," she assured me. "They're jokers, but they're Weasleys."

"Ginny's right, Anna." Hermione nodded. "It's just a party, really." I nodded uncertainly, still wiggling my fingers in front of Byron, who licked at them.

"All right." I sighed. "Maybe the brown slacks with the white button-down?"

"Too muggle." Ginny declared. "And you need a skirt with those legs."

"Ginny!" Hermione admonished. "Well," she paused, looking at me critically. "You should show your arms, Anna."

"They're tattooed!" I blustered. "You know how people get about tattooed women."

"You have tattoos?" Ginny rolled to her side and sat up to look at me more directly. "Can I see?"

"Okay." I shrugged. I stood and slipped off my robes, revealing my sleeveless shirt and short skirt. I lifted my hair and twirled slowly. Ginny stood to inspect my eagle.

"I didn't know you had tattoos on your legs as well." Hermione mused.

"Just high up," I clarified. I hiked my skirt on the left side, showing the phoenix on my outer thigh, rising toward my hip. The bird's brilliant eye blinked as we watched it.

"Does Harry know about that one, too?" Hermione asked, her eyes crinkling with mirth.

"Harry knows about your tattoos!" Ginny squealed. "Tell me everything."

"It's not…I didn't…we…" I sputtered. I took a deep breath and tried again. "When he and Hagrid brought Byron I was already dressed for bed, so he saw the tattoos on my arms."

"And then he told me about them." Hermione disclosed in a sing-song voice. Ginny crowed.

"Listen to you!" I blurted. "We're not teenagers, you guys!"

"I think you like him baaa-aaack…" Ginny crowed, rolling back onto her stomach. They dissolved into giggles.

"Bah! Shut up!" I pulled the pillow from behind me and smacked Ginny on the back with it. They forced their faces into mock seriousness. "So…" I paused dramatically. "What did he say about my tattoos, Hermione?" Ginny grabbed the pillow back and slammed it against my legs. Byron barked happily.

"You do-ooo, you do-ooo," Ginny crowed. "You like him baaa-aack." Hermione leaned against the closet door, laughing happily. Byron's tail wagged forcefully enough to shake his legs back and forth.

"He said," Hermione paused, raising her eyebrows, "that he enjoyed talking to you about them." Ginny giggled. "And he said he thought you were a skilled healer." Ginny crowed. I felt my insides twitch with suppressed glee. He talked to Hermione about me! Immediately on having that thought I scolded myself, but there it was: he had done it.

A knock on the door to my rooms disturbed our girl talk. I shrugged into my robes, leaving them open, and moved to get the door. Tonks, Remus, Draco and Sirius stood on the other side. Actually, Tonks stood as Sirius lazily changed the color of Remus' hair. Remus grimaced, but didn't bother protesting. Draco stood away from the others, his face unreadable.

"Wotcher, Anna." Tonks chirped. "Like the nail polish." Until she said something I hadn't remembered the black nail polish still on my toenails. Well. At least it wasn't anyone who'd care.

"Hi all." I greeted, opening the door wide. "Come on in."

"I'm just after Ginny, actually." Draco said, stepping to the threshold.

"Okay," I nodded. "I'll get her. Hang on." I hollered for Ginny as the party stepped into my study. Draco had a point; it was crowded with all of us in the small room. The two left shortly afterward, though Ginny made me promise to update her after the party.

"Were you having a party in here?" Remus asked, smiling.

"No professor," I smiled back. "Ginny and Hermione decided they needed to help me get dressed for the twins' party."

"What'd you choose?" Tonks asked excitedly. "Let me see."

"She didn't choose," Hermione sighed, walking into the study. She lengthened a chair into a couch while Sirius was still sitting there.

"Show off," he muttered. I chuckled.

"As I was saying," Hermione continued, training her attention on Tonks, "Anna hasn't chosen anything. She's going to attend in the nude."

"I'm…I am not…" I sputtered. Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

"That's one way to manage it." He teased. I threw my hands up.

"Thanks, people. This isn't awkward enough already." I shook my head.

"I'll help, Anna." Tonks offered, striding into my bedroom. Byron gave out an excited yip when she entered the room.

"I left him stranded on the bed." I muttered, going to retrieve him. By the time I walked in, Tonks had pulled out a pair of fairly respectable jeans and a top I don't remember acquiring. She raised her eyebrows at me, holding up the outfit. "It's not too muggle?"

"It's the twins, Anna. None of their friends think like that." She reassured.

"Looks good to me, then." I scooped my hands under Byron's uninjured chest and back legs. Another knock sounded as I walked back to the study. Sirius had opened the door by the time I had set Byron down on the hearth rug. Harry walked in looking puzzled.

"Hello everyone, Anna." He nodded to me. Hermione turned to hide a grin. Sirius had transformed into Snuffles, and had joined Byron on the hearth rug. "Did you want me to look after Byron while you're with the twins?"

"No you don't, Harry," Tonks butted in. "We're taking him for the night. The twins will love him." Harry held his hands up in a placating gesture. Snuffles snorted at him.

"In fact, we should be on our way." Remus added with an unreadable glance in my direction. I nodded. "Shall we?" He asked Tonks and Snuffles.

"Let's." Tonks confirmed, scooping up the puppy. The four made their way to the door, which Snuffles' wagging tail batted closed.

"Anna, you should get ready for the party." Hermione bossed. "Come on, Harry." Harry looked at his watch, a dubious look crossing his face. Apparently he knew better than to comment. He nodded, and followed Hermione to the door.

"Good night, Anna." He tossed over his shoulder as they reached the door frame. I indulged myself in watching his back until he was completely out of sight.

"Anna." A low hiss carried my name to me. I tried to look around while keeping the look of polite interest on my face. It might not have been necessary. Bret or Brad or Barry or whatever-his-name-was just kept on talking about his successes in the banking world. I probably could've walked off, and there he'd be. "Anna!" The hiss increased to a whisper. Yes, it was coming from my right. "Anna…" it continued, "the cabinet." I cast my eyes around. "To your left," the voice continued. "Hurry it up!" The voice ordered. Taking a last look at Barry-Brad-Boring, I murmured something that wasn't quite an apology and slid away to the cabinet in the corner.

An arm darted out and tugged me into the dark. Almost simultaneously a hand latched over my face. A big hand, I thought idly, sure hope it doesn't belong to someone who wants to rough me up. Well. Not much to be done about it now.

"Anna, it's me, Ron." The voice hissed. "Stay quiet." I nodded, and the hand on my face retracted.

"Ron?" I breathed. "What the hell are you doing in the cabinet?"

"It's a passage. Come on."

"I can't just leave."

"Course you can. The twins sent me to get you." He countered. I mulled. The alternative to following Ron wherever he was taking me was returning to the hellish conversation with Commander Dullness over there. I scowled in the boring man's direction.

"All right. I'm game." Ron's hand descended on my shoulder, and he tugged me gently toward the back of the cabinet.

"Once we're through here it gets easier to walk." He muttered. We passed a low door in the back of the cabinet and walked into a narrow hall. The air changed.

"Does this lead outside?" I whispered.

"To a garden, yeah." Ron said. "Sorry about the cabinet, by the way."

"That's all right." I shrugged under his hand. "I was about to die of boredom."

"Looked like it." He snickered. He pushed open a door to reveal a high-walled courtyard with no other discernable entrances. The interior was overgrown in a kind of pleasing, chaotic way. The twins were looking expectantly toward the door when we walked through.

"Ah, Anna," George said.

"Thank you for joining us," Fred continued, "though we suppose ickle Ronniekins didn't give you much choice."

"We asked him not to." George clarified. Ron shifted uncomfortably. I laughed.

"Ron saved me from a conversation about banking. I probably owe him my life." I teased. "How are you two going to top that?"

"Oh we will," George cooed.

"Never you mind how." Fred winked.

"But you see," George mused, "We begin to think…"

"That you haven't been telling us everything." They said together. The effect was a little intimidating. I shifted my weight, and the gravel beneath my feet crunched.

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"We mean we can't help you find a fiancée if you don't tell us certain things." Fred clarified.

"Or if we have to learn those things from our dear sister." George continued, looking intently at me. Ron perked up beside me. I began to wonder what on earth Ginny'd done.

"I don't get it." I confessed.

"We think we don't need to spend this month introducing you to wizards," Fred continued as though I hadn't spoken.

"We think you've already met one." George finished. I wrinkled my brow at them. I pondered. I thought back. Then it hit me: Ginny and the tattoos.

"Oh. Oh no. No, Ginny doesn't have the right idea." I blathered.

"Doesn't have the right idea about a particular person?" Ron pried.

"Augh! Okay." I huffed, turning to Ron. "Ginny thinks Harry's interested in me. I really don't know why."

"We do." The twins intoned.

"You do?" I blinked.

"He has mentioned you;" Ron mused, "He said something about tattoos." The twins grinned. I tugged at the hem of my top.

"And he's at Hogwarts—" Fred continued.

"Where he's got no real reason to be—" George elaborated.

"For an entire week." Ron concluded.

"All right, all right." I put my hands up. "Stop." I sighed again, peering above the twins' heads. "It's not even worth thinking about, okay?"

"Why's that?" Ron demanded.

"Because he's Harry Potter, and I'm Anna Arthur." They looked at me blankly. "Get it? He's the savior of the wizarding world. I'm a girl from Idaho."

"So?" Ron said rudely.

"So you've got to box your own weight class!" I blurted, annoyed.

"You've got to what?" Fred asked.

"It's a muggle saying—there's a sport called boxing. Oh. Never mind." I shook my hair behind my shoulders. "The point's easy: Harry has no reason to pay attention to a girl like me. I'm nobody. I'm a muggleborn nobody who has to get married. What could possibly be in it for him?"

"You could give him a chance," Ron said, his tone truculent.

"You're assuming he wants a chance!" I tossed my hands to my sides, exasperated. "He doesn't!" The twins looked intently at one another for a moment, then turned their gaze on me.

"We don't know how we can help you," Fred began.

"If you think that way." George concluded. I pressed my palms to my forehead for a moment, then dropped them to my sides again.

"I see your point." I said. And I did. This marriage had to get started if it was going to get done at all, and I wasn't doing myself any favors being a foolish girl about it. Time to be mercenary, Arthur. Time to attack. I didn't really know how to do that, but damned if I wasn't going to try. I squared my shoulders. "Let me at 'em, I guess."

"I'll just lead you back to the banker, then?" Ron raised an eyebrow. I winced.

"Please don't." I muttered. The twins laughed. After a moment, I did too.


	17. January is for Lovers

**January is for Lovers**

"Miss Arthur." A deep voice, awfully familiar, cut into my sleep. I pulled my head farther under the covers. "Miss Arthur. I require your assistance." Not going away. No; I remember this voice not going away before. I pried one eye open. The black form of Severus Snape loomed awkwardly at my bedside.

"G'morning Severus." I mumbled.

"Good morning." He stepped back and shot his gaze firmly toward the window as I sat up. "I will…await you in your study." He turned on his heel and fled the room. I grinned to myself. Severus is afraid of my pajamas. Heh.

"I'll just be a minute." I mumbled in his direction. I rubbed my face forcefully, trying to wake up. Only after I was dressed, washed and combed did I realize fully that Severus was in my study. What on earth?

I put my shoes on with a little more haste and walked into my study, where Severus was sitting in an armchair with his fingers steepled and his eyes staring into the middle distance. "Coffee, Severus?" I offered. He started when I spoke.

"Thank you." His face seemed even paler than normal. Maybe it was just the light? I handed him a mug and sat across from him. "I have come to a decision," he began. I nodded. "I do not wish to put off my proposal any longer."

"How can I help?" I asked earnestly. He looked at me keenly for a moment and appeared to come to some sort of conclusion.

"Distract Potter this evening. I do not wish to be interrupted." He paused, and a faint but discernable series of emotions crossed his face. "And if you would…"

"Yes?" I prodded.

"Speak to him."

"I'm sorry, Severus, I don't quite…" I began.

"I believe he will not..." He shot his eyes to the window and back again. "He will not react well to our engagement, should Miss Granger accept me."

I blinked. It hadn't crossed my mind that Hermione's friends wouldn't be happy for her. Severus watched my thoughts echo on my face. "I—I'll try. I mean—well. If he says anything bad I might just yell at him."

"Quite." Severus' mouth curled into a near-smile.

"I'll contain myself." I added earnestly. "I'll just keep him talking."

Those words ran back to me that evening at dinner. I had maneuvered myself into a seat between Remus and Harry. I had started an inane conversation about school pranks. That was my first miscalculation: Harry didn't seem at all distracted. Well, that's not true. He did, but he was distracted away from what I was saying, not by it. Okay, Arthur. Do it for Hermione and Severus.

"Harry, would you mind helping me check on Hagrid's animals later? I promised him I'd do it, but I think I'm in over my head." I smiled at him, trying not to let on that I was behind Hagrid's absence in the first place.

"All right," he agreed. "I'm surprised you've been doing it alone. Hagrid used to ask all three of us—Ron, Hermione, and me—to look after them."

"Oh, it's not so overwhelming." I demurred. "Mostly it's the bats that are difficult." He nodded, and we returned our attention to our pie and to Remus' stories about Tonks.

Miscalculation number two reared its head as soon as we got to Hagrid's hut. With two of us there to corral the bats and fill the food dishes, taking care of the animals hardly took any time. It certainly didn't take long enough to cover a proposal. I fretted as I watched Harry slip the latch home on a pen of brightly-spotted lizards.

I dragged my feet as we started up the path to the castle. Finally, he turned to face me. "All right," he demanded, "what are you up to?"

"I'm—Well. I guess I'm caught." I caught my lower lip in my teeth for a moment. "I'm supposed to be keeping you busy for the evening." I darted my eyes back to him to find him struggling not to laugh.

"It's not going as you planned?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, not really." I frowned.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because you figured it out." I said incredulously.

"No, not why isn't it working. Why are you trying to distract me?"

"I can't just…" I started. Then I thought about it. Severus practically asked me to tell him. "Fine. Walk to the pitch with me?"

"All right." He turned toward the pitch and I fell in beside him. When I glanced at him again, I noticed him grinning.

"What?" He turned to me, a questioning look on his face. "What's funny?"

"When I was here people walked to the pitch to snog." He smirked at me. My stomach gave the familiar twist. I could feel my face heating.

"Maybe after I tell you what's going on," I said, trying to make my voice sound confident.

"I'll hold you to it." He said. We walked in silence the rest of the way. I ran the possible ways to start the story through my head. None of them sounded right. Well, I've always been best at winging it. We came to a stop near one of the stands, where Harry cleared a patch in the snow and charmed it into a comfortable place to sit. Looks like someone's done this before, I mused.

"Okay. Severus asked me to keep you out of the way."

"You're doing this for Snape?" Harry sounded appalled. Great.

"Wait, wait." I put a hand on his forearm and felt his muscles tense beneath my fingers. "Let me explain." He nodded. "All right. Really I'm doing this for Hermione."

"For Hermione." He deadpanned. I sighed.

"I'm not explaining this well. I'll start at the beginning, all right?" He nodded. I tried again. "When I got here, Hermione was one of my first friends. I couldn't help noticing she was alone a lot."

"She always has been." Harry mused.

"I figured." I nodded. "She seemed happy enough, but sometimes she seemed like she'd just kill for an intelligent person to talk to." Harry nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. "I got to know Severus too, because I work closely with him. Then I started noticing them together." Harry's brow wrinkled. "No, they weren't in a relationship or anything. Just, when I first got here I noticed Severus was the only person smart enough to keep up with Hermione."

"I've seen that too." Harry mused.

"So I'd tease her about it a little. Remus did too. But I didn't think anything of it, really. I mean, Hermione has a lot of friends. Anyway, you know all about the marriage law." Harry nodded. "It didn't change the way they acted. It just made me notice it in a different way."

"So they…" Harry began.

"Yes. I think so. At any rate, Severus came to me a while ago asking for my help. He said he wanted to propose to Hermione." Harry let out a strangled sound, but stayed still. I took that as a positive sign. "I didn't end up being any help to him, I don't think. But that's why I told him I'd try to keep you distracted. He's proposing to Hermione."

"What do you think…" Harry said quietly. "What do you think she'll say?"

"She's happy around him. She is." I sat up straighter and looked him in the eye. "I want her to say yes if she'll be happy." I paused, and looked away. "And it'll keep her from having to worry…about the law."

Harry looked down for a moment, then leveled his gaze out across the pitch. "Does Ron know?"

"I don't think so. I haven't said anything."

"He'll have a fit."

"I think she knows that." I said. We fell into silence for a while. Finally, Harry spoke.

"What did you get out of it?"

"Sorry?" I asked. Get out of what?

"For helping Snape. What did he offer you?" Harry looked at me pointedly.

"Same thing as the twins." I chuckled. Harry looked puzzled. "When I talked to Severus, he offered to introduce me to all the unwed wizards he could."

"What does that have to do with the twins?" Harry looked bewildered.

"Oh. I guess I didn't tell you." I shrugged. "The twins made me promise to give them a month before agreeing to pose for _PlayWizard_."

"To give them time to develop the film. Tonks told me that." Harry confirmed.

"During that month, they planned to introduce me to all the unwed wizards they could round up." I grimaced. "I don't know if any of that counts as 'getting something out of it.'"

"Awkward, is it?" Harry gave me a half-grin.

"Like you wouldn't believe," I laughed. "Ron had to save me from the dullest banker in Britain the other night."

"Ron's in on this?" Harry chuckled.

"I think the twins coerced him." I smiled. We fell into silence again. This time I broke it. "Harry, I want you to know: Severus respects her. Very much."

"But does he love her?" Harry asked.

"You know we'll never know that." I scoffed. "But Hermione will." Harry frowned. "Come on, Harry." I urged. "She's smarter than us."

"She is." Harry shook his head. "I know it's her decision." He declared, meeting my eyes. I nodded.

"Good."

"Anna." Harry said abruptly. I looked at him. "When is the month up?"

"Soon," I sighed. "And before you ask, it was a complete wash." To my surprise, Harry reached an arm around me and gave my shoulder a brief squeeze.


	18. All Systems Go

**All Systems Go**

"Anna?" Once again, I woke to a voice. This one was just as deep, but not as fluid. I cast my half-asleep brain around for a match. "Anna? I'm coming through." Through? I patted myself down under the covers. Good. Flannel pants and a camisole. That's close enough to street clothes. I sat up, dislodging Byron from his perch near my chin. He squeaked in protest, and I stared at him blearily.

"Some guard dog you are." I said, patting his tiny paws. He lifted his head and licked at my hand before collapsing back into the covers.

"Anna?" There was the voice again.

"Coming." I called. I yanked on a sweatshirt and wandered into my study. To my chagrin, Harry was standing there, tidy in his Auror's robes. "Harry?"

"Morning." He smiled at my bedraggled appearance.

"Same to you," I muttered.

"Any news about Hermione and Snape?" He asked.

"Nothing yet," I said, just before cracking a gigantic yawn. "But it is obscenely early."

"It really isn't," he said, watching me fumble with the small muggle coffee pot I'd forgot to set to brew. "Sit," he commanded. Within moments he had a mug full of coffee in my hands.

"Thanks," I muttered, sinking into a chair. I gestured vaguely in the direction of the other one, and he sat. "You know, you and your friends show up earlier in the morning…" I began, stopping to crack a huge yawn. It was true. Over the last two months I'd been awakened by more people invading my room than I wanted to think about. I failed to finish my sentence, my mind wandering. Byron had rousted himself from the bed after all the commotion, and now sat looking expectantly up at Harry. Harry scooped him up into his lap, where Byron began attempting to lick Harry's nose. "I've got to get him to stop that," I observed.

"He is persistent." Harry mumbled, dodging Byron's advances.

"At least he sits now." I felt the need to defend the little dog, whose exuberance was understandable, considering his age. As I thought of a better rejoinder, Hermione's head appeared in the flames.

"Anna?" She called.

"Right here." I answered.

"Morning Hermione," Harry said. I could see Hermione's face shift to surprise, then back to neutrality.

"Good morning Harry." She said. "May I come through?"

"Course," I nodded. She came shooting gracelessly out of the fireplace moments later. "You all right?" I asked.

"Yes," she said curtly. "And—I have some news."

"Well have a seat and tell us," I said, gesturing to a third chair I'd just added to my study. "And there's coffee if you want."

"Thanks," Hermione said. Harry handed her a mug after doctoring it with sugar and cream. She nodded and smiled at him. "I think you know that Severus proposed to me last night."

"We do." Harry confirmed. Hermione paused, appearing to consider her words.

"Well?" I urged.

"I accepted." Hermione said. I shot to my feet, spilling my coffee.

"Fabulous!" I crowed. Hermione shook her head at my enthusiasm, but smiled broadly. Much to my relief, Harry smiled as well. I caught Hermione trying to gauge his reaction out of the corner of her eye, and barely saw her appear to let out a relieved breath.

"That's great, Hermione," Harry said. He stood and hugged her. I was surprised to feel my eyes water. I blinked hard, but I think Hermione noticed when she turned to hug me.

"I'm so happy for you," I said, squeezing her shoulders.

"I know you helped us." Hermione looked me dead in the eyes. "Severus told me. Thank you."

"It was the least I could do," I demurred. "Really." She clutched at me again with a strength that surprised me. As we held onto each other a tear squeezed out the corner of my eye and ran down my cheek. I slashed it away from my face before she could see it. I backed away and took a drink of coffee to clear my throat. "Now both of you get out so I can get ready for work." I locked eyes with Harry and Hermione both in turn. "Shoo," I commanded, smiling.

When they were both gone I set my coffee cup on my bedside table and stared out my window toward the forbidden forest. I ran my fingertips along my scalp from my hairline and down the length of my hair, slowly, and let two more tears run the length of my face. One for the situation, and one for myself.

The Snape engagement party was bigger and fancier than I thought it would be. But I also didn't think Hermione would take the Snape name. Shows what I know about purebloods in this country. Much of my nervousness had melted after the first cocktail Sirius handed me, however, and I'd not really minded the inane conversation after that. I'd met enough unwed rich men to stock a fancy gentlemen's club. All of them were well groomed if not especially attractive, and all of them had the same impeccable manners. I suspected the combined talents of Severus and Hermione at work.

"Seen anything you like?" A male voice, attached to an arm thrown quickly around my shoulders, startled me out of my judgments. I turned my head just in time for an identical arm to snake around my waist from the other side. The twins.

"Good to see you, boys." I grinned.

"I believe Miss Arthur is not answering the question, Fred," George teased.

"I believe you're right, George." Fred replied. They looked in at me from each side. I shook my head.

"And I'm not going to answer." I smiled. "At least, not right here in the same room." They chuckled slightly and started to walk me toward the bar, where we joined Sirius, Remus and Harry. Sirius especially seemed amused by our arrival.

"Any luck, Anna?" Sirius asked, straightening from a languid slouch against the bar. Harry and Remus looked at me attentively.

"I can't just…" I trailed off, glancing at the bartender. Remus followed my gaze and nodded.

"Have you seen the charm work outside, Anna? I think you'd enjoy it." Remus said in a rush, cutting off a curious Sirius. I turned to Remus.

"I haven't. Join me?" I swept my eyes over all of them. We made our way to the garden, the twins clowning the entire way. While the charm work was impressive—and utterly Hermione-inspired—we didn't spend long looking at it. The twins quieted and we snuck into a niche in a stone wall where benches had been chiseled into the masonry. We sat, and Remus cast a silencing spell over the opening in the wall. Once he was finished, Sirius cast a complex do-not-notice charm. I leaned back and sighed.

"Okay—here's your answer." I turned to the twins. "I can't tell any of those guys apart." Sirius snickered; Remus winced. The twins and Harry went quiet. I sighed again. "I think the game's up."

"Surely there's something…" Remus began.

"There's got to be…" George cut in.

"You're quitting." Sirius finished. I leaned back against the stone wall.

"Yeah." I confirmed, my voice flat. "I mean, I'll keep at it, but it's time to plan for failure."

"Exactly how long do you have?" Harry spoke up. I cast my mind back to the original letter.

"I don't remember the date." I concluded. "I think it was the second week of April." I pondered, looking up. "Yeah. It was mid-April. It's the April issue of _PlayWizard_, and the shoot they offered me was in the first week of March."

"So you still have February, no matter what happens." Sirius concluded, looking me in the eye.

"We're done with the film," Fred contributed.

"So I agree to the shoot at the first of March. I have all of February to keep trying to get someone to marry me. If I fail, I do the shoot and try to help Harry and Tonks."

"And if you find someone, you back out." Harry cut in. I nodded.

"Then I find my replacement at Hogwarts and go home." I finished, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"That's not going to happen," Fred insisted.

"Then what will?" I snapped. "It's not like of you'd marry me." I silenced myself, then shook my head slightly trying to control my anger. "Sorry, Fred."

"Don't worry about it," Fred muttered, looking pained.

"We do still have some time, Anna." Harry said, looking at me earnestly. I let out a breath.

"I know." I looked at each of them in turn. "And thanks for trying to help me." Silence descended, and I watched one of the wizards from the party pass the niche, a flat look on his face. This was it. The plan was on.


	19. The Pinkest Month

**The Pinkest Month**

Byron was no longer tiny by the second week of February. His puppy growth started in his legs, which were spindly and awkward for only a short time before his body seemed to explode with growth. Dobby, the snappiest dresser of the Hogwarts kitchen, had fashioned him a brightly-colored dog bed that fit perfectly against the side of my bed. By rights, Byron should've taken to it naturally. He didn't. It took a week and a half of persistent shoving to keep him off my bed at night.

Since his transition to what I'd started to call—in my head at least—his "big boy bed," Byron had become a much better guard dog. He'd started to stay at my feet most of the day, even in the infirmary where I made him stay in the office. He'd taken up coming to get me when someone accessed my floo, or when an owl tapped at the window. He'd started standing next to me when I got the door to my chambers. He'd also decided he only approved of certain people—not that he'd growl or bark. He'd just stand next to me, at the ready, the entire time a stranger was near. If one of his favorites came, however, he'd saunter to the cushion near the fire (also from Dobby) and lay his head on his paws, content.

For the life of me I couldn't figure out what qualified a person for approval by Byron. He loved Dobby—almost dangerously so. He'd lick Dobby's face and nearly knock him over. He adored Remus. He practically shook with glee every time he saw Tonks. He liked to sit next to Severus. He loved to put his chin on Hermione's knee. He ran himself ragged with Snuffles. He knocked over furniture wagging his tail when the twins visited. But most of all he loved Harry.

"But doesn't everyone. Eh pup?" I sank to the floor next to Byron's cushion and sank my fingers into his curly mop. He turned his dark eyes at me and cocked an ear. "I know, baby," I mused, "it's the day before Valentine's Day and I'm sitting here on the floor in my bathrobe with my puppy. What kind of life is that, huh?" I ran my hand over the top of his head, and he lifted his nose under my wrist. "I just don't know what else to try, little man. I've gone to parties and tried to be cute. I've wandered around with the twins. Maybe I should check the personal ads?" Byron flipped over on his back and kicked his back leg out. I ran my fingers over his belly. "Yeah, maybe not."

At that Byron gave a sudden twitch and flopped over on his side. He lumbered to his feet and headed purposefully toward the fireplace. At last, I heard it too. "Anna?" I got to my feet and tucked my robe more securely in place before walking into the study.

"Right here, Harry." I walked into his field of view.

"Oh. Er—sorry." He looked sheepish.

"Why's that?" I sat and twisted to face him. I saw his eyes dart to my thigh and back up to my face. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my robe had created a slit high up my leg. I rose and wrenched it back into place. "Oh—oops." I said quickly. My stomach squeezed briefly, but I was getting better at not staring at him. At least, I hoped I was. "What's up?"

"Oh, yes. If you're free, would you like to talk about the case?" He rushed through the sentence, and it took me a minute to work it out.

"Yeah—yeah that sounds great." I sputtered. "Where should I meet you?"

"Brilliant. Just floo to the Leaky. I'll take us from there." He paused. "I was thinking we could talk at my house, if that's all right. It's just the security…"

"Sure," I rushed. "That sounds great. Besides," I chuckled, "I'm not exactly dressed for a formal party."

"You're not exactly dressed at all." He noted.

"But I will be." I said, smiling.

"Pity." He teased. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh," I said abruptly, "could I bring Byron? He's been alone all day."

"Of course," Harry said. "No one's licked my nose lately." He gave a half grin. I grimaced.

"Sorry about that."

"It's all right. Really." He said. "See you at the Leaky."

"All right. See you soon." I confirmed. I waited for him to close the connection before flying into my room, throwing a drying spell at my hair on the way. Nothing that'll make me freeze, nothing too young, nothing too ratty, nothing too muggle—well, maybe that last one won't matter—nothing too date-ish…for heaven's sake. At that rate I'd never find something to wear. I grabbed at a recently-bought pair of jeans and a sweater. I peered in the mirror, which came to the same conclusion as I did.

"That sweater's nearly transparent, dearie," my mirror chirped.

"Oh my…" I muttered, tearing it off and putting on a long-sleeved t-shirt. I yanked the sweater back on and turned to find shoes.

"Leave your hair down with that sweater, dear." My mirror weighed in.

"I guess I don't have time to do anything else," I worried.

"Trust me, dear." My mirror assured me. "He won't stand a chance."

"It's not a date," I blurted.

"Of course it isn't." My reflection winked at me. I gulped, and went in search of Byron's leash.

Harry's house appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Once the portkey dropped us all I could see was thick undergrowth topped with trees of fair age, unevenly spaced by nature, not design. A walkway the width of two people wound through the trunks. Byron, still dazed from the transport, wove off the path into the leaves as we walked toward the door.

"Do you travel from here to London every day?" I pried.

"No." Harry said, fumbling with Byron's leash, which had become tangled around one of his legs. "I've got a flat in London for the week. But I stay here when I can." He led me through the small entryway to a sitting room with an expanse of glass over most of the back wall. Outside the ground cut away and the trees parted slightly, revealing a stretch of sky and clouds. I unconsciously stepped toward it.

"It's beautiful." I sighed. I cleared my throat to knock the girlish breathy tone out of it. "I can see why you'd try to stay here."

"It's a good place to fly." Harry contributed. His voice seemed tight. I turned to him to see Byron stretched to full height, his paws on Harry's shoulders and his tongue reaching for Harry's nose. Don't try to have a moment with a puppy around, I guess.

"Byron! Down!" I commanded. He teetered backward and put all his paws on the floor, then approached me with his head and tail lowered. I unclipped his dragging leash from his collar and wound it into my cloak pocket. I stretched my palm over his broad head and rocked it gently. "Knothead…" I muttered.

"Knothead?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um…It's what my dad used to call the dumb horses. You know, the ones that'd get caught up on the fences or think they couldn't ford even the shallow streams." I blathered.

"I've never been around horses." Harry noted. He sat, gesturing to an armchair. Byron immediately sprawled at the base of his chair, trapping his feet. He smiled and shook his head once. "Why knothead?" Harry kept eye contact with me, but made an odd gesture with one hand. I heard a pop, and was peripherally aware of a tea tray appearing on the small table between us.

"There's an old wives' tale about horses' heads—they say you can tell the dumb ones by checking their skulls for knots. I don't think it's true though…" I said abstractly, completely distracted by the tray. I turned to it. "How did you do that?"

"Dobby," Harry began. At the word Byron's tail began to thump the floor forcefully. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"They're friends." I clarified. Harry gave a crooked smile, obviously picturing the tiny elf and my huge puppy.

"He prepares trays and somehow I can call them. He never quite explained it." Harry mused.

"Does Hermione know about this?" I teased.

"No." Harry smiled. "And she won't." I lifted my palms to him, shaking my head.

"If she finds out, it's all Byron's fault." Byron lifted his head, then dropped it back to the carpet. I let my attention wander around the room. It had a lot in common with the rooms in the castle: lots of solid, comfortable-looking furniture that appeared worn by use. The walls had much more wood than stone, however, and I had the fleeting feeling the house might have grown out of the forest. I laughed inwardly at my thought. Harry cleared his throat.

"Have you owled _PlayWizard_?" His voice was gentle. I nodded over the teacup I didn't remember taking from the tray. "Good. Tonks and I have been thinking about the shoot," he continued, "and the best way to keep you under watch." I turned toward him and set my cup back down. "We want to have Tonks there with you."

"How?" I blurted, worried.

"She'll morph." Harry said calmly. I continued to watch his face as he talked. "Tonks has training as a photographer—it's part of surveillance training. She'll replace whatever photographer they assign to you. That way she can use Fred and George's film."

"All right," I nodded.

"She'll be there with you during the shoot, but not for the rest of it." Harry said seriously. "You'll need to wear a recording device. We'll give that to you and teach you how to use it. Tonks will wear it during the shoot, since you won't be…" Harry trailed off, looking uncomfortable. "Since you won't be able to conceal it." He finished. Oh I hadn't thought of that. I swallowed.

"So I just wear the device, do the shoot, and get out of there." I repeated. Harry nodded sharply. "And Tonks wears a device while she shoots the film." He nodded again. "But they said I'd need to come in for an editorial session after the shoot. What about that?"

"Tonks will come with you." Harry said seriously.

"Harry," I paused, looking for the right words. "What am I looking for? What do I want them to say?"

"You can't ask them questions, Anna." Harry's tone was final.

"That's not what I meant."

"Anything could help. We've already got more information that points to Wade." Harry paused and took a long breath. "But we need names. Any names. We need connections that we can prove."

"So if I..." I started

"No." Harry cut in. "You can't do anything out of your ordinary behavior. These people are dangerous." He gave me a stern look I hadn't seen on his face before. The effect made me shift in my chair.

"That's what Severus said." I muttered.

"Snape?" Harry asked.

"I didn't tell you the whole story." I admitted quickly. Harry's eyes narrowed, making the green more pronounced. I took in a quick and shallow breath, turning my attention to the grain of the wooden floor. "Snape grabbed me out of Grimmauld Place one night. He found out I wasn't in Idaho and went looking for me." Harry shot out an annoyed breath forceful enough to disarrange his hair even further. I forced myself to look him in the eye. "He'd found out—I don't know how—that I was considering posing and that I knew about Wade."

"Damn it." Harry said sharply, his wand hand curling into a fist. I held up a hand.

"No, listen." Harry looked back up at me. "He didn't try to talk me out of it. Instead he told me I didn't know how to lie, and that I shouldn't even try it." Harry looked puzzled. I soldiered on. "He told me I had to go in there like a 'scared healer' and not like I belonged there, or they'd know I was acting and start asking questions."

"True," Harry grunted. "But he shouldn't have found out."

"Severus always finds out, Harry." I said, exasperated. I leaned forward and grabbed his wrist. "He'd just asked me to help with Hermione. He probably thought I was going to tell you." I paused as Harry met my eyes. "You know how he is. He thinks the worst of people." Harry stared at me, and I stared back. "He was trying to help me avoid getting caught." Slowly, Harry nodded. Then, to my surprise, he flipped his hand over and gently took my wrist.

"You need to tell me anything related to the case." He said seriously. I nodded. "But Snape is right."

"I know," I said quietly. "I'm not going to take risks." Harry released my wrist; I released his and leaned back in my chair.

"Yes you are." He gave a half-grin. I looked back at the floor. He was right and I had nothing to say. Byron lifted his head and gained his feet, his nails slipping on the slick flooring. He walked over to me and thumped his chin down on my knee. I scratched my nails over his ears.

"Don't look at me like that, boy." I muttered to him. "It's the right thing to do." When I looked up Harry had turned toward the window; the sunset cast the angles of his face in sharp relief. For the moment, at least, he didn't look concerned.


	20. Full to Bursting

**Full to Bursting**

In my dreams, Valentine's Day was a very different affair than it truly was each year. In my mind, there weren't crying girls and gloating girls. There weren't uncomfortable dances packed with awkward adolescents. There weren't bars stuffed with annoyed singles. There weren't young couples making obnoxiously public eyes at one another on the streets. Yes, in my head, Valentine's Day was just a reason to send an owl if you cared about someone, and no reason to worry if you didn't.

Well, nothing says "wake up to reality" like Valentine's Day breakfast at a boarding school full of teenagers. Heart-shaped pancakes. I mean really—does anyone need this? Do they? Is there any excuse for this behavior?

I ought to have followed Byron's example and not come to the great hall this morning, I groaned to myself as the owls descended. As I did most mornings, I assumed the owls had nothing to do with me. I turned to my obnoxious pancakes with determination: I was not going to think about how stupid this holiday was. No I wasn't. No I—well. Apparently I was going to get a scroll right in the middle of my obnoxious syrup. Oh well.

I fished the scroll off my plate and swabbed it with my napkin. In the process I looked forward to see a teetering pile of envelopes resting in front of me.

"Looks like you're doing well for yourself," Remus elbowed me.

"Huh?" I blinked at him. He gestured toward the pile.

"I assume those aren't for me." He clarified.

"They assuredly are not for me," Severus added from my other elbow.

"Oh good lord…" I groaned. Severus smirked. "And shut up, you two." I snapped, waving the sopping scroll for emphasis. In a huff, I turned to face front and snapped the scroll open. And, for the love of all that's holy, it started to sing.

"Ohhhhh…" I whined, slouching between them. Remus snickered openly. The scroll finally shut up and exploded into a shower of cartoon hearts, which I brushed irritably from my robes. "For chrissakes…"

"Surely the others will be every bit as entertaining." Severus muttered. I nudged him, hard. He smirked again.

"Fine." I snapped. Remus continued to snicker. I opened the top envelope on the stack. In it was a parchment heart with a thank-you note from the Slytherin quidditch team. I looked up toward them and nodded. They nodded stiffly in return. I stashed the heart by my plate and fought the urge to annoy Severus with the fact that his snakes had cut out a heart for me. I fished the next from the pile. Brandhurst…Brandhurst…oh—purple boils. That was a rough case. I stacked that one atop the first. So it went, through the cards, until the final two.

The second-to-last was from Jack, and again contained a drawing from Max. Jack sent along a volume of Imagist poetry as well, and Lana had added a little silver bracelet linked to look like a snake. I saw Severus trying to peer at it covertly, and I grinned to myself. In this Max drawing a figure I immediately recognized as Jack stood at the prow of a tall ship with billowing sails. A massive serpentine beast writhed in the water, waiting to be subdued. I folded the drawing and deposited it carefully in my robe pocket.

The final item in the pile was a slightly lumpy package that shifted alarmingly in my hands. I turned it over a few times, debating the wisdom of opening it at the table. Remus looked on with keen interest.

"Oh all right," I turned to him. "I'll do it." I tore into the paper, and was utterly shocked to have an animated heart fly out and bounce off my forehead before flopping onto the table. I blinked at it, stymied.

"Perhaps you've killed it." Severus intoned. I snickered.

"It's moving." Remus updated us. Sure enough, it was. It regained about a meter of altitude, then started to swell. I fretted. Severus pushed back from the table. Hermione got to her feet next to him and backed away even farther. Remus and I held our ground, perhaps foolishly.

Then all hell broke loose, as my father would say. The heart reached critical mass; it exploded in a nova of distressingly bright colors and discordant sound. Remus grabbed my shoulder and dove for the floor. We joined Hermione and Severus under the table and waited, with our hands over our ears, for it to stop.

At the end of the blast of sound Remus picked up the edge of the table cloth and peered out into the hall. It appeared that students nearest the door had run, while those nearest the blast had taken cover much as we had. Those toward the middle of the hall sat, their attention riveted on something unfolding right above our heads.

It didn't take long for it to become clear what that was. The unmistakable chorus of the twins' voices rang into the hall—and they were rhyming. I can't hope to recreate the poem they recited. It was by turns uncomfortable and revolting. It skated the thin line between the embarrassing and the illegal. It was genius. I was paralyzed with laughter, as was Remus. Hermione giggled up her sleeve. Severus appeared to be quaking. The students were roaring their approval, and I was too afraid to stand up and take stock of the rest of the staff. At last, I heard students start to shuffle their things and head for the classrooms. Then came a series of heavy footsteps.

"You al'righ' down there, Professors?" Hagrid asked, lifting the tablecloth. Severus grunted something and helped Hermione to her feet before striding off. Remus and I emerged, brushing at our robes.

"Suppose so, Hagrid." I laughed. "Those boys…"

"I don't know how Molly handled them," Remus said, smiling and shaking his head.

"They're bright ones, they are," Hagrid agreed. I gathered the pile of opened valentines from the side of my plate and headed for the infirmary, chuckling all the way.

Byron deigned to join me in the infirmary after lunch, during which he'd sat under the table hoping Dobby would furtively send him a treat. The two of us only had a boy with a low fever and a girl with a scraped knee to attend to all morning, so I'd gotten a good deal of my stores reorganization done. Then Eliana arrived with one of her housemates who'd given herself a sizeable burn in Herbology. I set the salve to work on my patient and turned to Eliana to dismiss her, but something in the look on her face made me pause.

"Eliana, could you walk back here with me a moment?" I put on my most motherly nurse voice. She nodded and fell in behind me. Once we got into my office I turned to her and pushed the door nearly closed. "Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Yes…" she said, her eyes tracking around the walls. I wasn't buying it. I gave her a look. "Okay. No."

"Your friend won't have to stay very long. You can talk to me after I send her back to Gryffindor tower."

"Okay." Eliana bit her lip, then seemed to give an effort to appear unaffected.

"Could you sit here with Byron while I check your friend?" I asked, not truly worried about Byron in the slightest. Eliana nodded, and I was quickly able to send the girl back to her common room. I grabbed a cup of tea and handed one to the nervous girl. I sat across from her and leveled my gaze on her. "Now. What's going on?"

"Um…" she shuffled her feet on the floor, looking down. Then she sat straight. "You're going to have to leave, aren't you?"

"Why do you say that?" I stalled.

"The law. You have to leave, don't you? You don't have a ring." She peered at me. I stayed quiet, thinking of a good answer. "Jennifer said muggleborns have to leave in April if they're not married yet."

"That's right," I started. I paused to consider the next part. I took a breath and plunged ahead. "If I'm not married by the second week of April I have to leave." I paused again, wondering if that could possibly be all that was worrying her. "Is that all this is about?"

"No." Her face crumpled. "Isn't Professor Granger a muggleborn, too?"

"Yes, El, she is. But didn't you know? Professor Granger is engaged." Eliana's face smoothed over again for a moment. Then her brow wrinkled.

"So Professor Granger can stay. But you aren't engaged yet."

"No." I couldn't see any way to soften the blow, really. You want to know, kid? Here it is. "I'm not engaged, and I don't know anyone who wants to marry me. I will probably have to leave before the end of the year."

"But somebody sent you Valentines. I saw." She blurted, her jaw set.

"Those were from friends, El." I said quietly. "I don't have a reason to think I'll be able to stay."

"But it's not fair!"

"No, maybe not. But it's how it is." I rubbed a hand over my forehead, suddenly tired. "And I've still got a little time."

She looked at me dubiously. "I guess so," she said. I stood, and she did as well. I took her cup back and ushered her to the door. I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, starting when Byron shoved his nose under my hand.

"I need a drink, pup." I told him. "A drink and an explanation of that awful heart," I continued. I smirked, thinking about the four of us hiding under the table. "What do you say, boy? Want to visit the twins after work?" He thumped his tail against the floor. I checked my watch. Half an hour to go. No matter what I'm getting into or how soon I'm going to have to leave, I'm going to enjoy the time I've got left. Damn right I am.

That night I found a bottle of rather expensive cask-strength scotch in my quarters, complete with a note from Severus. To wit: "Miss Arthur: I do not sing, nor do I write poetry. Severus." I got such a swelling of glee from his gift that I had to sit down until it passed. Oh I can't wait to meet Hermione and Severus' children.

That night I also found a seat at a muggle bar in London where the music was loud and the patrons indifferent to strangers. I got absurdly smashed—beyond smashed. Irresponsibly smashed. I lost track of time. I ended up on a London street, several sheets to the wind, with nowhere to stay until I was in a condition to apperate. My bleary mind turned over a few times. The Knight Bus? No. Oh heavens no. Who's in London? My fogged brain stumbled around on this point for a few steps. Then I recalled a few faces—then a week—then a name: Grimmauld Place. Eureka.

Of course it started raining. I grumbled to myself as I walked. Stupid London. Stupid rain. Stupid rain not hard enough to be real rain, just drizzle that makes you cough and blink a lot. Stupid clammy wet shirt. After a quarter hour's walk I was more than sober enough to manage the Knight Bus, but still reticent about apperating. I stuck out my wand arm and breathed a (damp) sigh of relief when it braked in front of me. I meant to say Grimmauld to the pimply man at the front. I did. But I didn't do that. I gave the address of Harry's flat, which he'd sent to me in an owl so I could attend a meeting next week about the shoot.

So there I was, moments later, standing in the same rain outside a neat building with few lit windows; there I was ragged with rain and drinking all night. There I was with no good reason to trouble him, or anyone, with my presence. I loitered. It was late enough to be early. The street was nearly deserted. Nearly, but not entirely. In the end it was a leering man smelling of urine who drove me to take the steps toward the door and into the building. The cool staircase nearly had me shivering as I climbed to his floor. I stood there, too, for a while. Then, to my horror, the door opened.

No one appeared to be behind the sudden movement. I glared at the open door, trying to make it make sense. Then Harry appeared, clearly half-asleep and wearing only plaid boxers. I blinked at him. "Harry?" I wondered aloud.

"Anna?" He peered at me, seemingly having some of the same problems I was having. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm here…" I mumbled. "I don't know." I slumped a little, giving up.

"Come in, then." Harry said, his voice becoming clearer as he woke. He squinted at me. "You're all wet."

"S'raining." I declared, before lurching past the threshold of his apartment. He closed the door behind me and shot a drying spell at my clothes. "Thanks." I muttered. I touched a hand to the wall to steady myself as I turned to face him. "Harry," I squinted at him, "why'd the door open?"

"You're drunk." He declared. I vaguely registered that he hadn't answered my question.

"Mmhm." I closed my eyes briefly, but opened them when I started to get dizzy. "M'sorry."

"Come on," Harry wrapped an arm around my waist and led me, heavily leaning on him, to a couch.

"I didn't try to come here." I declared, wrinkling my brow.

"Where did you try to go?" Harry asked, cocking his head with an amused twist to his mouth.

"Grimmauld Place." I sighed. "Thought I could sit there until I was sober. To apperate."

"Yes, well." Harry smirked. "Sirius likes drunk women."

"Ew." I scowled. Harry laughed. I turned my face toward the arm of the couch. "Sirius likes any women." I added. Harry laughed harder.

"I should get a Quick-Quotes Quill." Harry mused. I turned to him and scowled childishly. He chuckled again. "You need to sleep, Anna."

"Yeah." I agreed. He threw a blanket to me from the back of a chair. I curled into a ball on a couch cushion and relaxed quickly into a doze. When I was just at the edge of sleep I could feel his weight leaving the other end of the couch, and could sense his hands removing my shoes. He pulled the edge of the blanket over my feet, and tugged a lock of hair out of my face.

The next morning Harry woke me by tapping my shoulder. In the echo chamber of my hangover, it felt like I was being jackhammered. I willed my sticky eyes open to see his face and nearly hollered. For a moment's blind panic I couldn't remember the circumstances that brought me to wake up with the face of my—admitted—painfully huge crush leaning over me. All I knew in that moment was his face, the morning light, and a killer hangover. And all I thought was 'oh crap, am I wearing clothes?'

"Anna. I put a hangover potion on the table when you want it." Harry said gently. I blinked at him, unable to do much more with my sleepy body. He walked off, and I slowly pulled myself upright. After I downed the hangover potion, unfortunately, the night started to come back to me. Good heavens, Arthur. How are you going to come back from this one?

I did an absurdly exacting job of folding the blanket and placing it over the chair to buy myself some time. Then I squared my shoulders and marched into the next room to face my morning-after humiliation like the adult I wish I were.

"Toast?" Harry offered when I walked into the kitchen.

"Thanks." I said, trying to formulate my next move. "Look, I'm really sorry I dropped in on you like that." Great, Arthur. That was suave.

"Don't think of it," Harry shook his head, handing me a plate of toast. "You were a lot easier to bear than Ron."

I opened and closed my mouth a few times trying to think of a response. "Thanks?" I tried.

"You're welcome." He smirked. "You said you were going to go see Sirius."

"I didn't mean that, really." I clarified. "I just thought Sirius would let me sit in his kitchen until I was sober enough to leave."

"Then what were you doing in London?"

"I didn't want to be around anyone I recognized." I paused to take a bite of toast. Harry handed me a cup of coffee. I nodded my thanks. "But here I am regardless."

"So you wanted to get drunk alone?"

"No." I frowned. "Well. Yes. Maybe." I shook my head quickly and took a sip of coffee. Harry watched me. "I didn't go out to be alone, specifically, but it looks bad for the healer from the local school to go out drinking. So I go where I won't be recognized."

"That makes sense." Harry allowed.

"And I didn't intend to get so wasted. I actually shouldn't have been." I shook my head again. "I don't know."

"What's that mean?"

"I didn't have that many drinks. I'm surprised I was that drunk. That's all."

"You weren't with anyone?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"What're you saying?" I squinted at him.

"You were in a muggle bar." He declared. I nodded. "So, there are muggle drugs."

"In the movies, maybe." I let out a bark of laughter. "Come on, Harry. Who'd want to drug me?" He just looked at me steadily. "Really, Harry."

"Just be careful," he said. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. He meant well. I knew that. And I knew I'd been very stupid. I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. At least I didn't try to come on to Harry. That was a near miss. I took another deep breath. Happy Valentine's Day to me.


	21. Going Hot

**Going Hot**

"Hey Hermione," I drawled, flipping my legs over the arm of her chair to face her as she wrestled with the bodice of her wedding dress. She looked up from her struggles, slightly pink in the face. I took that as license to continue. "Want to go shop for lingerie?"

"S-Sorry?" She sputtered, dropping the bodice entirely. "What?"

"I need to buy lingerie. So do you, if I'm not mistaken." I trailed off, winking broadly. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on. I don't want to go alone." She shook her head, smiling at me.

"When do you want to go shopping?" She asked, flipping a curl out of her eyes with a little annoyance.

"How's now suit you?" I drawled.

"If you'd…" she paused to yank fiercely at her gown, "help me out of this thing."

"Let me at it," I agreed, shooting up from the chair. Byron briefly looked up from his lounging place near the fire. I set Hermione to work holding her hair up, and swiftly released her from the elaborate fasteners of the wedding dress. "It looks pretty well fitted now, you know?" I mused.

"It should be," Hermione said. "I've been in that dress shop so many times…"

"Now, now," I teased, "we all only want the best for our favorite professor."

"Your favorite professor only wants to see the end of this." She groused.

"Get dressed, girl, time's a wasting," I ordered. Moments later Hermione emerged in a sweater and slacks, ready for a foray into the girliest, most floral place Hogsmeade had to offer. We walked happily down the village street chattering about Hermione's nearly completed wedding plans. They were going to be married in the presence of their closest friends on the Hogwarts grounds, in a garden being prepared by Neville. They'd have only a minimal wedding party, and a large reception. While it was all grand in the final plans, it had been a trial to arrange. Two celebrities getting married meant lots of nosy press, and lots of profiteering shop owners. But Hermione was very, very happy.

"Here we are, then." She said as we came to a stop before a pink-fronted shop.

"No turning back now." I muttered. I stepped forward and gave the door a shove. I was here for entirely different reasons than Hermione was. Far from being a fiancée, I was a future model for _PlayWizard_. I'd come to see what I was likely to be up against—yes, I'd come to think of frilly underwear as a foe—during the shoot next week. The fewer unknowns the better, I figured.

We split up on entering the shop. Hermione headed toward a section full of reasonably tasteful, though primarily black, negligees. I scanned the room for the section with the least fabric per garment. All right, Arthur. This is what you're here for.

In the meeting with Tonks and Harry I'd seen a demonstration of the disappearing film. Tonks had also shown me the morph she'd use as the photographer. I felt reasonably confident that nothing horrible would come of it. But there just wasn't any way around the fact that I'd be wearing tiny underwear in front of Tonks and whoever else _PlayWizard_ decided they wanted to have around. I bit my lip just thinking about it. As I mulled I made my way through a rack of improbable bras.

"Are you looking for something special, dear?" The woman's voice startled me. I turned to her, my hand on my chest. "Sorry dear, I didn't mean to surprise you." A witch with iron hair and a yellow measuring tape around her neck smiled at me from behind thick glasses. I slapped a smile on my face.

"That's all right. I was wool-gathering." I reassured her.

"Have you bought from us before, dear?" She pressed. Oh how I did not want to be helped. Argh.

"Um, no, I haven't," I began.

"Well. I'll just take your measurements and we'll see what works best for your shape," she cooed. My shape? Good heavens. No wonder I always bought muggle underwear.

"Ah—okay." I caved, more curious than anything. What if they did this at _PlayWizard_? I didn't want to seem like a complete idiot.

"Just follow me, dear." She bustled off toward a row of curtained booths. I rushed to keep up. Once there we started an uncomfortable process of measurements from a magical tape with no sense of personal boundaries. I might've imploded from the awkwardness if she hadn't kept up a steady stream of anecdotes about her years as a swinging single. As it was, I was busy fighting off the mental images and couldn't worry about the tape gripping my upper thighs. At long last she returned the tape to her neck. "Just stay here, dear; I have just the thing." She hurried off into the store, leaving me standing in my skivvies on a podium. Well, Arthur. You've got to learn to handle this.

She came back with an armload, no, a mountain of scandalous underthings. I was impressed. I was awed. I was extremely nervous.

"Let's just get this in place, shall we?" She chirped. With a wave of her wand, my own underwear was replaced with a set of black lace knickers and a scant bra. I rotated toward a non-magical—thank heaven—mirror and realized as I moved that the knickers were in fact a thong. Oh my. "No, no…" she declared, waving her wand again. The set was replaced with a yellow set that appeared to have a small skirt of lace around the band of the thong. I was mortified.

"This isn't really…" I began.

"It certainly isn't," she chuckled. The next option was in scarlet satin. "Oh that's better," she declared. "Yes, the deeper tones are better. Though the black was good…" She popped another black lace set onto me. This one had boning in the bra. Not too bad, if I did say so myself.

"Won't those show?" I asked, running my fingers across the boning.

"Oh no, no." She assured me. "At least, they won't show unless you choose to show someone." She winked at me. I forced a smile onto my face and willed down the blush that wanted to come. "Those are the ones, aren't they?" She asked.

"I think they are." I agreed, thinking I was doing so just to get out of there but knowing I really wanted the fancy underwear, and the lace, and the idea I was pretty. Too bad I know that's something you can't pay for.

"I'll wrap them, dear." She concluded, swapping them for my own clothes. I pulled my robe back in place as I followed her to the counter to pay for my absurd indulgence. I saw Hermione there with another saleswoman. She was also wearing a slightly guilty look. We walked out together in silence, and were two storefronts down the street before either of us spoke.

"I feel a little weird walking around with this bag," I said.

"So do I." Hermione said in a brisk tone. I looked at her and started to smile. She did too. Soon we were laughing.

"Were you as freaked out by that as I was?" I asked, finally gaining control of myself.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "I didn't know I had to try everything on, and with her right there in the room!" Her hands fluttered up near her face, where a pink blush rose in her cheeks.

"I know!" I gushed. "And she kept telling me all these stories about her personal life! Eek!"

"What did she say?" Hermione breathed, her eyes wide. I looked around us on the street.

"I can't tell you here. A kid might hear." I muttered. Hermione's eyes got even wider.

"Really?" She squeaked. "Oh. Oh, Anna. I might've—I might've just left."

"I thought about it, but I knew you were still in there and I didn't want to go." I swept a hand over my hair. "I don't think I'll ever do that again." I laughed.

"I don't think I will either." Hermione smiled. We walked back to Hogwarts with our shrunken parcels hidden in our robe pockets.

I took two days off the next week. One was to travel to London and ready myself for the shoot, and the next for the shoot itself. I knew I'd have to travel back to go through the editing meeting, but I knew I needed a week of working like normal to keep me sane between the two encounters with _PlayWizard_. I'd also decided to take Byron with me when I traveled, and for the same reason. Sanity. I already felt like it was slipping, and I had to be sharp for this. I had to be.

Harry came to get me from Hogwarts early, well before the students would be awake. We took the floo from my chambers to his London flat, where I stood awkwardly clutching my bag until Tonks walked into the room.

"Wotcher, Anna." She said, clearly tired. "There's coffee in the kitchen." I set my bag by the end of the sofa and followed her into the other room, Harry and Byron falling in behind us. We settled at the kitchen table with Byron at our feet. After a silence, Tonks began to review the steps of the plan. After I'd assured them both that I understood and that I'd be all right on my own in Harry's flat for an entire workday, they headed to the Ministry.

When Harry arrived that night he looked like he'd been put in a muggle clothes dryer. His hair was on end, his robes were rumpled, one of his shoes was untied, and his tie was limp around his neck. Only his glasses were on straight. Byron bounded up to meet him and immediately planted his paws on Harry's shoulders. I scrambled off the couch to intervene.

"Byron! Down!" I commanded, noticing the wince on Harry's face when Byron impacted his shoulder. Once I had Byron on the floor again I peered at Harry a bit more closely. A thin line of blood trailed from his outer eyebrow to his cheekbone. "Would you like me to look at that?" I offered. Harry pitched his robe and tie down the hall and turned to me, blinking. "The cut on your face," I clarified. He reached two fingers up to the side of his face and winced as he touched the line of blood.

"Don't bother about it," he mumbled.

"Harry." I planted my feet, shifting into my healer voice. "Come here and let me look at it, at least." He regarded me for a moment, then let out an impatient sigh. He walked over into the living room to stand in better light. "Hermione does the same thing to you, doesn't she?"

"All the time." Harry confirmed, his voice impatient. I angled his chin so I could see the cut more clearly. It was superficial, but singed at the edges. Interesting.

"Partially cauterized?" I muttered to myself. "Well, no…" The corners of Harry's mouth twitched. I turned him to face me again. "What?" I demanded.

"You talk to yourself." He noted.

"Oh, hush." I commanded, turning his face again. I focused a moment and did a wandless spell to bind the skin together, and another to forestall scarring. I ran my index finger over the skin next to his eye, checking my work. He caught my hand and held it, looking at me. I looked back for a few moments. Don't stare, Arthur. Check the shoulder. I kicked myself back into gear. "Now, your shoulder's painful as well?"

"It's just a bruise," he evaded.

"I'll judge that." I cut in, snapping back to my healer voice. "What happened to it?"

"I landed on it." He said tersely. My mind sped through all the horrible things that could've made an Auror land on his shoulder before I could think to stop it. I took a sharp breath, forcing my face to stay neutral.

"I'd like to see it." He looked at me impatiently for a moment, and I looked steadily back. "And I won't drop the subject until you let me." I raised an eyebrow at him. He shook his head, but started unbuttoning his shirt. I slid my palm over the skin of his shoulder, pushing the shirt down his arm. My palm tingled with the contact; I shifted my grip. "Yes, that's a bruise," I confirmed. I peered at the discoloration, looking at the imprint of bone and tendon in the impact area. "Hmm. Stretch your arm back for me?" He complied, and winced about sixty percent of the way through a normal range of motion. "It's more of a burning pain?" He nodded. "Okay." I turned and retrieved my wand from the couch.

"What're you doing?" He asked, his arm limp at his side again.

"I'm checking the degree of separation you've got…" I trailed off, realizing I was about to get irritatingly technical. "I think you've injured the same area a few times, and that it's caused a buildup of tissue in your muscle. I can fix that easily, and it will let you move your arm without pain."

"It's not that painful." He muttered.

"Harry, I'm the expert here." I reminded him. I smiled at his chastened look. "This will feel odd for a few seconds—it will tingle and feel warm." I started a visualization spell to get a sense of the scarring in Harry's shoulder. "Holy cats, Harry." I breathed. "This must hurt like hell."

"It doesn't, really." He protested.

"I can dissolve the buildup, but it will make your arm feel a little weak for the next hour." I explained.

"All right." Harry agreed.

"It'll burn. Would you like me to numb your shoulder first?" Harry shook his head. I nodded, and started working on his shoulder. I could tell he was in pain at the outset only by a tiny flare in his nostrils. Toward the end he just stood patiently watching my wand movements. When I finished I shook the kinks out of my wand arm, and my wrist gave a loud crack. Harry lifted an eyebrow at me. "Sit," I commanded. "Your muscles will knit more firmly if you rest."

"I think you're bossier than Hermione," he groused, sinking to the couch. Byron immediately installed himself at Harry's feet.

"Thanks," I teased. Harry leaned his head against the back of the couch. He looked exhausted. "Seriously, though, I do need to evaluate it again later this evening." He pulled his head back up and looked at me.

"Right." He nodded. He looked into the middle distance for a moment. "Do you want to order take away?"

"If you let me go get it." I pressed. I knew I was on the verge of making too much of a pain of myself, but that shoulder made me nervous. He'd clearly been landing on it repeatedly and ignoring the pain. Stubborn man.

"Fine." He dropped his head back to the couch for a moment, before rising to give me directions to a storefront down the street, and suggestions about the menu. When I returned Harry had sprawled on the couch and was sound asleep. The combination of my return and Byron's shifting woke him.

We ate quietly in the kitchen, then returned to opposite sides of the couch. Harry paged through a quidditch magazine with a bored look on his face; I did the same thing with a healing journal. It was so much harder to keep the foolish thoughts out of my mind with him sitting right there, his shirt still mostly unbuttoned. I berated myself for being unprofessional, then for being immature, and finally for being unrealistic. But there it was: he was at the other end of the couch. I could stretch out my legs and touch him. And I wanted him.

The thought surprised me. A startled look crossed my face, which I quickly tried to brush away. I threw my gaze back down to my journal and forced myself to read, but barely made it a few sentences before Harry sighed. I was gone again, thinking about him. My gaze drifted up off the page. I grimaced, taking myself to task for foolishness.

"Not up to your standards?" Harry's voice made me jump.

"Huh?" I blinked stupidly.

"You looked annoyed." He gestured toward my journal.

"Oh—I didn't…" I babbled. "I suppose I wasn't really paying attention."

"How could you be bored by…" He leaned over, reading from my page. "Osteo—what is that?"

"It's a technique for bone repair that's under research in sports medicine right now." I smiled at his rendering of the term.

"They need a new one?" He turned to me, throwing a knee up on the couch. I mirrored his pose; our shins aligned on the narrow sofa.

"Yes. Well, not always." I looked to the ceiling a moment, choosing my words. "They're researching it in sports medicine because many athletes have used bone regrowth techniques too many times—maybe you've heard of that?"

"Yeah. It keeps players out while their bones heal naturally." He nodded.

"It does. It's also extremely painful for the players, since bones don't knit in exactly the natural manner after too many repairs. There's increased risk of tumors, so the process requires monitoring and occasional surgery."

"So this new method avoids that." Harry prompted.

"We hope so. The new method tricks the bone cells with a different mechanism, so it may be safe to use for patients who have had too many fractures repaired the other way." I paused. "But I suspect it's too optimistic. Bone cells—any cells—eventually reject the alterations we currently know how to perform. This technique might only buy some time before the patient will have to be taken through natural healing."

"I see."

"But it is part of a trend I think will be positive in healing—the use of muggle research to augment our own work."

"Now you really do sound like Hermione." Harry teased. I smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment." I gestured toward his magazine. "What are you reading?"

"A long complaint about the officiating at the last Quidditch World Cup," he replied, "that doesn't matter now that it's decided."

"Sounds thrilling." I smiled.

"It's like talking to Ron." He smiled back. I snickered.

"Ron likes lost causes?"

"Ron likes the Cannons."

"Those Weasleys." I shook my head. "Fred and George spent some of our time in Grimmauld Place trying to get me to understand quidditch."

"You don't?" Harry asked.

"Harry, I'm American." I rolled my eyes. "We don't do quidditch." He scoffed. I soldiered on. "I spent hours staring at little children's toys flying around pitching balls at one another, Harry. I tried. I just can't give a damn."

"I think you didn't try." Harry accused.

"Of course I did. I was stuck in that room with Fred and George. They made me." I huffed. Then, listening to myself, I recalled our game of Truth or Dare. I was helpless to keep the silly grin off my face.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well. Fred and George didn't make me like quidditch, but they did get me to play Truth or Dare with them." I laughed, thinking about Remus and the magazines.

"You didn't, Anna." Harry looked aghast.

"Remus said the same thing." I shook my head. "I didn't allow them to dare me to do anything."

"Then how did Remus get involved?" Harry smirked.

"I'm not telling you anything, Potter." I teased. "Now let me see that shoulder; it's time you went to bed." Harry gave me a glare and crossed his arms. "Don't even try to be difficult. I work with teenagers." I threatened. He regarded me steadily, arms still crossed. I considered my options. I kept a neutral look on my face and got to my feet, then walked around to Harry's end of the couch. He continued to look up at me.

"I do not have a curfew." He rumbled.

"But you do have an injury." I nagged. I reached for the collar of his shirt and slid it aside, lightly feeling the muscle surface for irregularities. So far, so good. I ran a quick diagnostic on the muscle. Also good. I flipped the shirt completely off of his shoulder and leaned in to take a close look at the bruise pattern. Using it as a guide, I ran a few more visualization spells. "Pretty good." I muttered. I shot a quick anti-inflammation spell at the area and healed the bruise. "Reach all the way up for me?" Harry turned his head and seemed to gauge whether or not he'd hit me by following my instructions. I turned around to face him and leaned in to his shoulder, my face near his collarbone. "Better?" I asked, glancing up at him.

"Mm." He agreed, his breath brushing over my hair.

"Now, reach up, please." He followed my instructions. His bones worked much more smoothly. "Any pain?" He shook his head. "Reach behind you, please." He pushed his arm back, now able to extend it fully. He looked surprised. I moved around behind him. "Now forward." His muscle handled the motion well, though with some hesitation. He lowered his arm with visible relief. "Any sharp pain?"

"No." He turned to look at me as I walked around to his side again. I pulled the collar of his shirt back into place. He pinned me with his eyes for a moment, and again I had to push my brain to the next thought. I straightened and stepped away to the opposite end of the couch, pushing my hands through my hair and containing it behind my back. He was still gazing at me when I turned back around.

"Harry?" I asked. He started, then covered his flinch by leaning forward to pick up his magazine.

"Anna," he said, turning to me again. "You're comfortable with the plan for tomorrow?" He leaned slightly forward, a concerned wrinkle in his brow.

"The plan, yes." I answered honestly. "I'm scared half to death. I won't lie to you. But it's not about the plan."

"What is it?" He kept his eyes on me.

"I'm afraid to do it." I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself tightly. "It's stupid, I know. But it's just…I can't think of myself that way."

"I don't understand."

"I just don't think…" I let out a frustrated breath. "I'm not that girl, Harry. I'm not one of the pretty ones. It's not me." He turned away from me, and I cursed myself for showing weakness like that. What did I want him to say? What could he say?

"No," he said at last, turning to look at me again. "You're not like that." He stood up and turned toward the windows, rolling his shoulders back. "I'm going to bed." He walked a few steps toward the hall and turned to me again. "Thanks," he gestured toward his shoulder, then walked into the dark hallway.


	22. Picture Perfect

**Picture Perfect**

I'd like to say that by the time the makeup man got finished performing glamour charms and putting on muggle cosmetics I almost didn't feel naked, but that's not the truth. Wrapped in a borrowed _PlayWizard_ robe in a drafty studio I felt more exposed to more people than I have since I fell on my face during a ballet recital. I did that when I was four. It had been decades. I wasn't ready. I stood in a stall in the ladies room, looking at the ceiling to keep the tears from ruining my makeup as I blinked them back. Look, Arthur. You made your bed. Now you've got to lie in it. Get out there and give them what you came for. Now.

Tonks stood behind an assemblage of cameras and lights in the company of a quiet woman running the flash bulbs. An excitable man had been in with the cologne-wearing representative of the magazine earlier that morning, but most people were quiet now. The makeup artist stood to one side with a stylist, an overly muscled man with a long ponytail who I hadn't yet seen without a rack of lingerie. The set seemed to be a roll of paper pulled from the ceiling to the ground, where it rested on the floor. It was a matte black expanse. A black ottoman nearly as large as my bed sat on the background. There was nothing in that tableau to distract from me at all. I forced a breath in and out of my lungs. Breathe, Arthur. Walk. Go to the stylist. Get this day over with.

"Oh you're a tiny little thing, aren't you." The stylist cooed. "Let's just see you." He tugged at the belt of the bathrobe, opening it. I stood rigid in the brief silk nightgown they'd given me to wear. "Oh good, no strap lines on your skin," the stylist muttered to himself.

"She's got good skin, even with the tattoos." The makeup man chimed in. I forced my shoulders down into a more normal alignment.

"Just hang that robe here, honey." The stylist commanded. Well, Arthur. Now or never. I slid the robe off and hung it on the end of the rack. "All right, beautiful. Let's try this first." The stylist shot the nightgown off my body and replaced it with a corset that barely contained my breasts. The knickers weren't too horrid, but the garters and stockings made me feel like a hooker. "Shoes, shoes…" the stylist muttered, disappearing into the racks. He came out with an alarmingly high pair of stilettos with an ankle strap. A flash vision of Max's drawing of the snake tamer shot into my mind.

"Oh too dominatrix." The makeup man complained.

"You're right." The stylist shook his head. "We've got to go softer." He swapped the corset for a crocheted halter connected by a stomach panel to a crocheted bikini bottom. The assemblage thankfully did not include heels or stockings, but was alarmingly transparent and only tied in place. "Closer. Yes. That's closer. But too 'nature girl.'"

"Try lace?" The makeup artist suggested. With a few waves of the wand, I'd switched to a lace bra and knickers in black

"No, no." The wardrobe guy disappeared a moment and came back with what seemed to be a few panels of red lace tied together with ribbon. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, but he switched it onto me. It was what my school friends used to call a string bikini, but utterly indecent and made of lace and ribbon. I fought the urge to wrap my arms around myself. "That might be it," the wardrobe guy considered.

"It's the wrong color," the makeup artist objected. "It should be black." The wardrobe guy nodded, and made the color switch. He changed the ankle strap of the stilettos to ribbon, and declared me ready. With one last fluff of my hair, the makeup guy agreed. I took yet another deep breath, and walked over to Tonks.

It soon became clear Tonks was only holding down the shutter. The true director of the operation was a man named Angelo, whose suggested poses alone made me fight not to blush. In nearly every shot my face was contorted into either an inviting grin or an ecstatic gasp. My hands stayed at the ribbons holding my skimpy outfit together. My hair was constantly splayed across the ottoman, just as I was.

But that was just the morning. After a lunch break, mercifully in the bathrobe, I was switched into a men's white button down shirt and placed against a powerful spotlight that rendered my body completely visible. Again, I pretended to undress myself as directed. I stood in ridiculous poses, my back arched as I stood or my hair flinging around behind me as I clutched the back of a wooden chair. I ended the day straddling the back of the chair, one shirttail tucked between my legs, my hair thrown over my shoulder, and open margins of the shirt barely clinging to my breasts. Angelo, in a transporting fervor about the chair poses, declared that I was cover material.

I felt sick. I felt like crying. I felt like taking a long bath and not leaving my chambers for an entire day. I felt like burying my face in Byron's fur. I felt like running. And I hadn't heard a single name all day long. I slid on my clothes in the women's restroom and left with my bag over my shoulder, despondent.

"Shoes, Hermione." I ordered, taking her shoulders in my hands to still her nervous pirouettes. Her skirts were on the verge of knocking furniture over in her narrow study, and she was already stepping on my patience. I didn't need her stepping on my feet, too. We had minutes to get her marched to the garden to marry Severus, and damned if I was going to let her be late.

"I can't find them!" She panted.

"_Accio_…" I muttered, calling the slippers to my hands. "Now sit. You can't fasten them with those skirts." I ordered. She sank into the chair. "Gin?"

"Almost done," Ginny called. She and Luna had been waving complicated charms over a set of floral arrangements for the three of us and Hermione to carry. We were the wedding party, trussed in matching pale gold gowns. Thinking of it, I smiled at the fit Severus must have thrown over the color choice.

"Perfect. Now Hermione, listen: you're beautiful, you're on time, we're all ready, and you're going to be married in less than an hour." I locked eyes on her, willing her to regain her composure. "I've got your shoes on, and I've charmed everything to resist the dirt and gravel."

"Thank you, Anna." Hermione said mechanically, her eyes still slightly glazed.

"Come on, Hon," I cajoled, giving her shoulders a gentle shake. "It's time to stop worrying and be happy." She nodded back to me, blinking. "There's my favorite professor. It'll be easier once you see everyone. I promise."

"Done!" Ginny announced, walking quickly over to us. "How's this, Hermione?" She asked, handing a bouquet encased in woven ribbons and gleaming with perfectly-formed flowers to Hermione.

"Wow, Gin." I breathed.

"Thank you, Ginny." Hermione said, her voice trembling. Tears? Oh no. No tears. "They're perfect."

"Don't you dare cry, Hermione Granger." Ginny ordered good naturedly.

"Look up, Hon," I ordered. "It'll keep the tears from rolling out." Hermione complied.

"It's time," Luna announced dreamily, handing all of us our bouquets.

"Let's go." Hermione said, finally smiling. We made our way to the doors of the castle, where we met Mr. Granger and the groomsmen. The wizards of the groom's party were milling in a cluster, uncertain about the protocol for muggle weddings. I barged into the crowd, issuing orders. Mr. Granger looked momentarily startled, then very amused. I could've sworn I saw Hermione elbow him.

"Draco—escort Ginny. Remus—you're with Luna. And that leaves you…" I trailed off, peering at the dark-haired wizard curiously.

"Zabini. Blaise Zabini." He supplied.

"I'm Anna Arthur. I nodded to him. You're with me." He walked to my side, smirking. I ran tersely over the marching orders for the processional and recessional. Mr. Granger earned another elbowing from Hermione part-way through, but everyone appeared to understand.

The ceremony was straightforward, and neither fully muggle nor magical in form. I could see Hermione's influence over the vows as easily as I could see Severus' hand in the brevity. Once we'd recessed without a hitch I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever went on at the reception was entirely Ginny and Draco's problem. I smiled as we took the portkeys to Malfoy Manor.

I found Eliana shifting uncomfortably in her dress robes minutes after my arrival. I'd just managed to shake off my groomsman counterpart and truly didn't want to spend any more uncomfortable moments in silence with him. A teenager might be just what I need, I mused. I made a beeline for my young friend.

"Anna—Malfoy Manor has a ballroom." Eliana gushed, her eyes wide. As we were standing in the ballroom, her conclusion made me smile.

"Pretty, isn't it?" I contributed.

"I have to talk to you." She declared, grasping my elbow and tugging me closer toward the wall.

"What's on your mind, El?"

"Did you see Harry Potter looking at that guy you were walking with? Merlin, Anna, I thought he was going to hex him!" El enthused.

"Eliana, careful with the language." I nagged. "And I don't think Harry was going to hex anybody in the middle of Hermione's wedding."

"Seriously, Anna." She insisted, her eyes going even wider. "I think he's…" she ducked her head closer and whispered, "jealous."

"Oh for heaven's sake." I laughed. "Nobody's jealous of anybody." I shook my head.

"You just didn't see it," she insisted. "He totally is."

"Oh El," I shook my head. I had to distract her before I let slip how much I wished Harry would be jealous. I'll tell you: I wished it a lot. Really a lot. "Have you seen anyone you want to dance with?"

"Shh!" She hissed, blushing. "Maybe…but I can't just tell you!" She squeaked. I smiled.

"Yes you can," I insisted. "Maybe I can introduce you." She swept her eyes over the room, appearing to ponder the idea. I followed the direction of her gaze, which returned twice to a dark head of hair on the opposite side of the room. I'd seen him before. A fifth year Ravenclaw. Maybe on the quidditch team? Yes. Definitely. I searched my mind for a name. "How about young Mr. Boot?"

"Anna!" She hushed me, gripping my arm. I grinned.

"El, he can't hear all the way over there." Her cheeks went bright red. I rolled my eyes theatrically. "He can't, El. I promise. And I won't say anything if you don't want me to."

"What would you say?" She asked in a small voice.

"I'd just pretend I needed you to introduce me to him again, as I'd seen too many students to remember everyone's name." I batted my eyes with false innocence.

"Oh…" she breathed. "Then I could talk to him with you there."

"Mmhm." I assented, quickly snagging a flute of champagne from a passing house elf. Eliana took hold of my arm again.

"Let's do it." She said firmly, looking me in the eye. "And Anna…" I looked at her encouragingly. "You look nice." Oh for crying out loud, I thought. I look like a gilded ballerina in this getup.

"Thanks, El." I deadpanned. "Now let's go."

An hour later I stood on a terrace overlooking a Neville-designed garden with my wrists pushed lightly against my eyelids. Eliana is a delightful kid, but she's a kid. That conversation took a lot out of me; much more than I thought it would.

"Sickle for them?" A calm voice issued from my right. I took my hands away from my face. Remus stood next to me at the railing, gazing into the night sky.

"Hi Remus," I smiled. "I don't think they're worth that much."

"Then I won't pay you for them," he bantered.

"I was just gathering my thoughts after an hour with Eliana and the object of her girlish affections, as my mother used to say." I mused. "She's still a little afraid of boys."

"Not spending time with the object of your own girlish affections, eh?" Remus pried.

"What object?" I snorted.

"Harry." Remus said shortly. "Think about it, Anna." With that he walked back into the party. I stared at his back, a little annoyed and a little wistful. What was it with these people? Suddenly tired, I walked back into the warm ballroom to say my goodbyes.

Remus and Eliana's words—for that matter, the Weasley boys' words as well—haunted me all the way to London for the editorial meeting with Tonks. When I arrived at Harry's flat I was jumpy with the fear I'd give myself away. Here I was, a grown woman, with a crush on the savior of the wizarding world. Hero worship. For the love of the saints, that's all it was. I was acting like a child.

I forced a break into my internal scolding and stood up straight, waiting for the door to swing open as the locking charms released. Harry'd set the door to recognize me. And it didn't mean anything, I told my addled imagination. It meant only that I was working for him on a case. Shoulders back, I walked into the kitchen.

"Anna; good." Harry said, his voice tense. He'd looked up from a pile of papers on the kitchen table. Interspersed were photographs of men on streets I sort of recognized. Harry's robes were rumpled and his hair looked like he'd been twisting his fingers in it. "Tonks will be here soon—I'll start explaining." He said quickly, gathering the papers into piles. "Have a seat." He gestured toward the chair next to him. I set my bag on the floor and joined him at the table.

"Did it help?" I blurted. He looked up at me, stilling his hands and peering into my eyes.

"Yes." He nodded. "We've nearly got an indictment. Today's meeting might help even more." His voice was serious and troubled.

"What's wrong?"

"We have more names, and we can connect them to the magazine," he paused, pushing his glasses up. "But they could still move before we do."

"They could Harry," Tonks butted in, wandering into the kitchen from the direction of the bathroom. "But they could have all along." Harry nodded toward her, his face strained. "Good job at the shoot, Anna. Are you all right?" Tonks asked me kindly.

"Fine." I dodged.

"Why?" Harry demanded, looking me in the eyes again.

"Look it's all right," I said quickly, wrapping my arms around myself tightly. "It's over, anyway. It doesn't matter now." Both of them peered at me, unconvinced. "Let's just finish this."

"Right." Tonks nodded quickly. Harry continued to study my face. I squirmed. "The meeting today will be with Angelo and Brody, the salesman you met the first day."

"The one with the cologne?" I broke in.

"That one," Tonks nodded. "You'll mostly sit there while they choose the photographs they want."

"You've been to one of these already?" I pried. Tonks nodded sharply.

"They don't behave themselves, Anna." Tonks warned. "You'll have to handle it."

"I can." I said firmly. I'll just have to. Then it occurred to me: "Tonks, how can they see the photographs if the film worked?"

"I've got sets of proofs with normal film. I printed them and destroyed the originals. I'll send them the trick film to produce the magazine." I nodded nervously. "We're following the plan, Anna," she reassured me.

"I know." I swallowed. I forced a half smile onto my face. From the looks they gave me in return, it can't have been convincing.

I thought back on that assurance at Harry's kitchen table as Tonks, the two men and I sat in a paneled office that afternoon. I distracted myself from Angelo's hand on my knee by studying the gilt edging on too many of the surfaces of the décor. I peered at the drapery when Brody leered at me. I swallowed hard to keep from shuddering when Angelo brushed a hand through my hair.

"Lighting's bad there." Tonks said brusquely, flipping past two poses in the white shirt. "Better here." She clipped, gesturing to the photographs with the lace. It's not me in there, I insisted to myself. That woman's not me.

"This one," Brody leered at the print of me sprawled on the ottoman on my stomach, my heels kicked in the air and my top entirely missing.

"We should've done nudes with you, Anna," Angelo rumbled, his voice smooth near my ear. My throat felt tight. I stared nervously at the table.

"So you want the layout in black and the seated white one?" Tonks said quickly, holding up two photographs.

"This will take final approval." Brody said, annoyed.

"If you'll join us," Angelo purred at me, holding a hand out near my chair. I made myself take it and stand. Harry can hear everything, Arthur. You're safe. You're completely safe. "Excellent," Angelo said, drawing my hand close against him in the crook of his elbow. Brody led toward a separate door from the one we'd entered.

"Wait here," he barked at Tonks. I took in a deep breath as quietly as I could. Tonks stood near the table as Brody took the two photographs and followed us into a low-lit hallway. We entered an office straight out of a movie set. One desk dominated the room, and our steps were muffled by thick carpet. I fought to keep my back straight and my hands steady. These are the people who beat the twins, my head screamed. I checked my posture again. Remember what Severus said: give them what they expect.

"Miss Arthur." A trim man in an expensive set of robes sat in a large chair behind the desk. The three of us stood awkwardly in front of him. Angelo silently released my hand. "Sit down, please." A chair flew into the room from somewhere and landed behind me. I sat, commanding myself not to tremble.

Angelo placed the photographs on the desk before the man and backed away behind me. Brody stood on my other side, also just out of my field of view. My arms tensed painfully.

"My associates have failed to introduce me, so I will do so myself." The man said. "I am Edward Wade, principal investor in _PlayWizard_." He looked at me expectantly.

"A pleasure, Mr. Wade." I said, forcing my voice not to creak.

"The pleasure is my own, Miss Arthur," he responded coldly. "Brody, Angelo," he snapped. "Place them." He handed the photographs back to Angelo, who stepped quickly back behind me. "I have approved your inclusion in the issue, Miss Arthur."

"Thank you, sir." I said quickly, not trusting myself to think of another appropriate reply.

"You're welcome." He said. At that an unpleasant smile came over his face. He glamour charmed his teeth. No one's teeth look like that. Those teeth were fake. I forced my mind back to the conversation as he stood and extended his hand to me. I stood and stepped toward the desk, extending my own. I was dimly aware of the chair sliding back out of the room. Wade took my hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips to my wrist. I took in a sharp breath of air, surprised. He lifted his head, smirking, and ran his thumb lightly over the skin where his lips had been. My shoulder tensed as I fought the urge to snatch my hand away from him. "Truly a pleasure, Miss Arthur." He purred. My throat tightened again. "Brody, Angelo," he snapped, finally releasing my hand.

"Sir." Angelo said as the two stepped to my side. Brody took my arm this time.

"Escort Miss Arthur." With that, the two led me from the office to the meeting room, where Tonks was nowhere to be seen. I made my way to the lobby and out, barely forestalling my trembling long enough to get to Harry's flat.

I walked in, knowing Harry would still be at the Ministry with Tonks. I slid down the back of the door and sat on the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, and let myself cry. I quaked and sobbed, too tired to resist it.


	23. Where the Heart Is

**Where the Heart Is**

"Hold still, you crazy animal." I commanded. The mare paced away from me, her eyes wide and her nostrils beginning to flare. I watched her head. "Don't start kicking on me, now…" I cajoled, lowering my volume.

"She understand English yet, Pixie?" Norm's gravelly voice carried over the corral fence. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his gloved hands tossed over the top rail, and the tip of his boot poking through where his foot rested on the bottom rail.

"Naw, Norm." I called, quietly. "But I'm working on her." He gave a low chuckle, staying quiet to avoid spooking the mare. She'd been favoring her foreleg and had to be calmed enough for the vet to have a look at her, preferably outside a squeeze chute. "Come on, little girl. I'll pen you if I have to." I warned, my voice low. I heard Norm shoot a stream of tobacco juice at a fence post behind me.

I'd come home to Idaho, to the old cabin and Norm and the animals, without telling a soul but Abby. I'd come for a weekend—crazy considering how much energy it takes to apperate between continents—but it had already been a relief. I did it telling myself I needed a reminder that I could live like this, but that wasn't truly it. No, if it came down to it I knew why I was here. To be somewhere quiet, somewhere I understood. And to have a couple of days without messy black hair and green eyes to throw me off balance.

"Getting slow at that in your old age, Pixie girl." Norm contributed, shifting his weight slightly against the fence. The pearl snaps on his old wool shirt glinted in the glare from the sun and the snow still in drifts on the ground.

"You ought to talk, old man," I chuckled. And Norm was getting old. He was still the same bear-wrestling, wire-armed cowboy I remembered in most ways—full of colorful ways to cuss a steer and a taciturn wisdom I'd always wished I could emulate. But he was grey and his skin was running to a papery ivory where it had once been brown as his saddle. He rode less and he sat more. For the first time in my life, I wondered if Norm ought to be out here alone.

He'd been shocked to see me, I could tell. He quickly clamped down on the reaction, though, and acted like he'd never thought I'd be gone all that long. The first night we'd sat on the old porch—the wood drier and more deeply grained than I remembered—and drank slowly from Norm's bottle of cheap whiskey. We talked about my father, and his flamboyant desire to keep his family on this land as much as possible. I think my father believed life was more real out here—like the emptiness was a kind of crucible that pressed away all the pretenses and left only character. Character with a capital C.

It didn't. That's just a thing Americans like to think about the west with a capital W. That it'll change who they are or make them better the longer they work. They call it honest work and expect it to make honest men and women. But it's work like any other work. Just dirtier and colder. At least, that's the way Norm and I saw it. Who the hell says we're right?

The vet rolled in an hour later, just in time to pass reasonable judgment on the fate of the cattle I planned to sell off. I'd talked to Norm about the place at length before he'd admitted he thought the cattle were a crazy waste of time too. So here he and I would be by the end of the weekend, with nothing but a reasonably sustainable number of horses and some pasture bound to go back to sage. I sat on the porch again, nursing a glass of water and waiting for Norm to get done talking to the vet. I knew I had no business in that conversation. I had the purse strings, but Norm had the brains for it. No sense fighting the way life was organized, I figured.

"Pixie girl," Norm began, knocking the clots of mud and manure out from between his undercut boot heels and the balls of his feet. "I've got bad news about that mare of yours."

"Tell me." I sat up straight and kicked a chair around for Norm to sit beside me.

"Vet says it looks like grass founder." Norm let out a sigh as he sat. I cursed under my breath. That mare ought to have had at least another decade in her. "He can't say how long she has," Norm pushed his hat back on his head a small amount, putting more light on his face. "But you know that."

"I don't want her suffering, Norm." I said. Norm didn't know I was a witch and he didn't know I was a healer, but he'd known me since I was knee-high. He knew I hated to see an animal hurt.

"I know that." Norm nodded. "I'll put her down when it's time, Pix." I nodded, my brow wrinkled.

"Norm," I began. He looked toward me. "I'm going to have to go back to work after this weekend. I can't stay."

"Like you said." He confirmed.

"But I want to be back here more often, if it won't be trouble for you." I looked at his face for a hint of what he thought of my idea. He nodded, his face immobile as a cliff side.

"Glad to have you when you can, Pix." He turned to me, looking me dead in the eye. "But don't you go missing things just to keep an old man company."

"Norm, you don't need company." I shook my head. "An old cuss like you?" I forced a grin onto my face, and Norm returned it. But I felt we weren't saying something. And damned if I knew what it was. "I need company worse than you do. I'd just be doing myself a favor."

"Well then, I guess I'll save you a chair on the porch." Norm allowed. He shot an arc of tobacco juice over the railing into the still-frozen remains of a drift that had blown up against the house. I watched it sink under the surface, bleeding toward the dirt.

"Where the hell were you?" Tonks' voice cracked across the room like a whip. I stood frozen at the door to my rooms, my traveling bag hanging limp in my hand. I blinked stupidly at her. "Anna." She snapped. "We couldn't find you."

"This weekend?" I wondered aloud, still stymied by Tonks' presence in my study and blurry-minded from apparating.

"Yes this weekend," she snapped. "We filed the charges on Wade and couldn't find you."

"Oh…oh damn." I blinked, stepping fully into my study and letting the door swing shut behind me. I set my bag down. "I was in Idaho. I told Abby. I didn't even think…"

"No, you didn't." Tonks tapped her foot in irritation. "Harry's been beside himself." I winced. "You can't leave England again until this is resolved, Anna. We need to know where you are."

"Okay." I nodded, feeling guilty and foolish.

"I'm going to tell Harry I found you," she declared, her voice still tense with annoyance. "Don't leave Hogwarts." I nodded and watched her floo to the Ministry. When she was gone I put my palm to my head and closed my eyes, feeling stupid. Well, Arthur. Nothing to do about it now. I gritted my teeth and picked up my bag to unpack. Nothing to do now but get organized and pick up Byron from Abby—just like nothing happened.

"Anna." The voice came with a very surprising poke in the forehead. I shook my head, and immediately regretted it. A blinding pain had taken residence behind my left eye overnight. "Anna." The voice insisted again. Another tap on the forehead.

"Go away," I whined.

"Not likely." Another voice, close to the first, joined in from my other side. I squeezed my eyes firmly shut and rolled my head forward. Why did my neck hurt? Why was I curled in a ball? I turned my head to my right and conked my forehead against an upholstered surface. The side of my chair. Why was I in a chair? I pried my eyes open, annoyed.

"Good morning." The first voice said, amused. I actually was in my chair. I'd slept all night in my study with my legs beneath me. I slammed my eyelids closed against the light and clutched at my head, whimpering.

"Anna?" The second voice sounded a little concerned.

"Who are you?" I slurred, keeping my eyes closed.

"It's Fred and George." The first voice supplied, now sounding very concerned.

"Time izzit?" I muttered.

"What happened to your head, Anna?" The first voice said, slowly and clearly.

"Headache. S'okay. Happens sometimes." I slurred. I felt a cool palm on my head. "Too bright." I declared, my voice barely audible. I felt the lights go out and forced myself to open my eyes. There were Fred and George, peering nervously at me. "M'sorry." I groaned. The longer my eyes were open the more of my vision disappeared into flashes of color. "Potion." I muttered. I knew they had to be utterly confused, but couldn't care. I teetered to my feet, dragging the throw blanket still hanging from my shoulder. I walked blindly, with my hands out, to my bathroom cabinet. I felt for the correct bottle and opened my eyes briefly to peer at the label. A hand closed around mine and plucked the bottle from my hand.

"It says it's for migraine. Is that right?" A very quiet voice beside me waited for my answer. I nodded my head, my eyes closed firmly and my hand clutching the bathroom counter. I heard the stopper being removed from the bottle, then felt the other person press the potion container into my hand. I swallowed it, wincing at the pain the movement shot through my head. I felt an arm go quickly around my back. "Come on, then." The voice urged, as the arm pulled me from the counter and toward my bed.

I slumped onto the mattress, not caring that I'd put my head at the foot of the bed and left my feet on the floor. I panted lightly, wishing the nausea would stop. Within a few minutes the potion had calmed my stomach and slowed the pulsing in my head to a manageable pounding. I opened my eyes tentatively, sucking in a breath as they adjusted to the light. I lay there, breathing carefully and listening for the twins. I couldn't hear them. At length the lights in my vision cleared away. I sat up and peered around the room.

The twins had gone after I took the potion—I couldn't tell when. They'd left a note on the chair where I'd slept. I skimmed it, in a hurry to dress and get to the infirmary. The migraine and potion had kept me from breakfast, like they did at least once a month. Oh the joys of being a woman.

They'd come to make sure I knew that the muggleborn issue was going to be owled to subscribers that morning, and to accompany me to the kitchens for breakfast if I wanted to avoid the great hall. They'd also seen the issue, and knew that the film had worked. So I had nothing to worry about. They hoped I felt better soon, and that I enjoyed the candy they'd left for me. Like I was stupid enough to eat a Weasley twins candy when I had a migraine. Those boys.

I spent the morning fighting nervousness about the muggleborn issue. Every possible way the twins could be wrong or the film could've malfunctioned shot through my head. I fretted, I paced, and I could've killed for an issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Surely they'd have reported the indictment and the photography hoax? I headed to the great hall for lunch hardly watching where I was going. I'd nearly made the main hallway when I ran into Severus. Almost literally.

"Miss Arthur." He nodded.

"Severus." I acknowledged him, still a little startled from our near-crash.

"It appears you have been successful." He raised an eyebrow and handed me a copy of the Prophet. I flipped it over to see the headlines. Sure enough, there was a picture of Wade snarling beneath a story announcing his indictment. "You may find the entertainment section interesting," Severus smirked, turning toward the great hall. I followed him, my attention focused on the paper.

There it was. In a side column on the front page of the entertainment section, there was a short announcement of a successful hoax on _PlayWizard_. Two thirds of the issue had photographs that blacked out moments after being revealed. It had been labeled the "nox" issue, just in time for April Fools' Day. I didn't even try to keep from snickering aloud. I changed course, and set off to owl my thanks to the twins.

"Byron, Byron." I muttered, running my hands over his ears. We sat together on the rug in front of the hearth, curled against the chilly spring night. We'd spent an hour outside that evening—I was trying to make up for leaving him with Abby for the weekend. I was pretty sure Byron thought she couldn't play fetch properly. Byron pushed his nose into the rug, looking up at me. I continued to run my hands over his floppy ears.

"I don't think I'll see him again, now." I mused. "There's no reason I would." Bryon heaved a deep sigh and flopped onto his side. I ran my palm over his ribs, feeling the remains of the injury that brought him to me.

"He's got what he needs for the case. That's the only reason I ever saw him." Byron wiggled, sinking deeper into the pile of the rug. "It's true," I mused, "it's not like we're even friends." Byron sighed again.

"I know what you mean." I told him. I had to be realistic, here. I'd had my little adventure—probably my last one as a witch. I had no more prospects for marriage than when I'd started. And the idiotic, girlish crush was still there in Harry's absence, which was likely to be permanent. Byron lifted his head and looked at me balefully.

"Okay, okay." I allowed. "I'm meeting him tomorrow. So what? Remember last time?" Byron huffed. "It's about the case again. It is." Byron dropped his head to the rug, giving up on me. I continued to run my fingers through his fur, staring into the fire.


	24. The Proper Distance

**The Proper Distance**

"Miss Arthur." This time I knew it was Severus without raising my head from my paperwork. Everyone else—even my horrid stepmother—calls me Anna by now.

"Severus?" He strode down the infirmary toward me, irritation and resolve radiating from him as usual. "Remus?" I asked, puzzled, spying Remus following him. When the four Weasleys walked through the door with Draco in tow, I stood and walked around my desk. "What are you…" I began, my brain racing. "Did something happen to Hermione?" I demanded, her absence registering at last.

"Hermione's fine." Remus assured me, casting a glance behind him as the door opened again. There she was, with Tonks.

"What the hell?" I turned my question on Severus, who I hoped would at least begin to answer.

"Anna, just listen." Remus put in, his calm voice doing little to quell my growing anxiety.

"This is ridiculous." Hermione snapped, stepping forward next to Severus, her face drawn tight with annoyance. From the corner of my eye I saw Draco's mouth quirk.

"We need to know what you're going to do about Harry." Ron said stoutly, stepping closer. His neck and ears were red—they distracted me from what he said for a moment. When I saw the twins nod, I ran it back through my mind.

"Huh?" I said stupidly.

"Anna, you have one week left." Ginny began.

"And we've been trying to tell you," Fred continued.

"We all have," George noted.

"That you should give Harry a chance." Fred finished.

"And why not? What the bloody hell's wrong with him?" Ron demanded, stepping still closer with an angry look on his face. If I hadn't been so confused I might've been intimidated.

"I—I don't…what?" I knitted my eyebrows and leaned back on my desk. I turned to Severus, who I thought I could trust to be reasonable. "Severus, tell me what's going on, please."

"Anna," he began. The use of my given name threw me. Maybe something happened to Harry? Why else would they all be in the infirmary looking for a healer—Wade? I felt panic start to set in. "Stop being a fool." Severus commanded. I blinked at him. Hermione reached over and clasped his forearm.

"We're here because you have a week," she began, "before you have to leave."

"Yes, I've got that part." I snapped.

"And we think Harry might marry you." Ginny summarized. I opened my mouth, but found I had nothing to say. I closed it again. I looked at them; they looked back at me.

"Think about it, Anna." Fred insisted, his face serious. "If you don't do something, you're going back to America to live with the muggles." The room went silent a moment; they stood, looking at me.

"Do what, damn it?" I exploded. "Do you all think this is news to me? You think I'm surprised? You think it's going to change because you all came here to tell me how shitty my situation is?" I was screaming at them, and I didn't care.

"Stop." Severus commanded, forcefully grabbing my shoulders and lifting me nearly off my feet. I stared at him, angry. "You have been thinking of nothing but how 'shitty your situation is.'" He sneered. "You have acted like a child. If you do not want to lose your wand you will act like an adult." His black eyes shone with anger. He released my shoulders and strode back to Hermione's side, his movements tense.

"He said you were meeting him tonight." Tonks put in. Ron looked surprised, and Ginny grinned.

"Yeah." I confirmed, trying to be civil.

"It's not about the case." Tonks continued.

"Of course it is," I said, my voice flat.

"Doesn't have to be." Ginny piped up. I shook my head.

"It isn't about the case." Tonks insisted. I turned to face her. "It's in trial. It's out of our hands." My chest squeezed. Maybe? Of course not, Arthur. Be realistic.

"You're trying not to believe us." Ginny accused.

"I've had enough of this." I announced. I walked past them and out of the infirmary, not looking back. But before the door closed I could hear the start of a conversation.

"Maybe we ought to lock them in a broom closet," one of the twins mused, with a frustrated sigh. They'd damn well better not.

Two hours later I was forty-five minutes from needing to leave to meet Harry, and probably a good two days' time from deciding what to wear. My room looked like my closet had ejected every bit of clothing I owned. I slouched in front of my mirror, fussing with a fraying seam on a pair of slacks. I heaved a huge sigh, staring at the ceiling. That was it. Annoyed as I sort of still was, I decided to floo Hermione and Ginny. Someone had to dress me, and I sure wasn't doing it myself.

"Hermione?" I called out of her grate. Severus appeared in my field of vision first. "Severus, is Hermione available?"

"She is." He said sharply, then leaned closer to the grate. "You have considered our earlier conversation?"

"Yes." I allowed. "I can't tell you I know what to do. I don't. But I can't keep…" I trailed off, momentarily closing my eyes. "Doing this," I finished.

"No." He confirmed. He straightened, then disappeared to return with Hermione in tow. She came through, then called Ginny for me. They both joined me in my room, among the profusion of rejected outfits. Ginny shook her head.

"Not going well, is it." Ginny commented.

"Not helping," I bantered.

"This is a mess, Anna." Hermione sniffed. She waved her wand a few times, arranging the clothes back in my closet. She and Ginny began a rapid discussion of possibilities. I sat back on my bed to watch.

"We know he likes your tattoos," Ginny mused.

"But she can't look like she's up to something." Hermione demurred.

"She can show a little…" Ginny snatched a strapless dress from the back of the closet. "This is cute."

"Too much." Hermione declared. "He's never seen Anna in a dress."

"Except for your wedding," Ginny corrected.

"Yes, but…" Hermione yanked a top with a draped neck out of the closet.

"That one falls off my shoulders all the time." I piped up.

"That's good." Hermione concluded.

"I'll freeze," I butted in.

"Suffer for beauty, then." Ginny shot back. Hermione threw the top at me; I grabbed a camisole for insulation beneath the loose knit. "The color could be better," Ginny frowned. She waved her wand and the top became a deep scarlet.

"Gryffindor?" I asked, dubious.

"Trust me." Ginny insisted. Hermione threw a pair of fairly reputable jeans at me.

"Those will make it look like you aren't dressed up." She concluded. "You always wear jeans."

"American," I reminded her, gesturing to myself. Ginny smirked.

"But you can't wear those shoes." Hermione ordered, gesturing toward my usual scuffed boots. Ginny disappeared into the closet, and emerged holding the boots I usually wear on the farm. She kept them at arm's length and peered at them distrustfully. I laughed.

"I use those on the farm, Gin." I explained, gesturing toward the mud splattered sides and worn soles. She dropped them back in the closet and reemerged with a pair of flats. I put them on and twirled for the two of them. "What would I do without you guys?"

"Go naked, probably." Ginny deadpanned. Hermione grinned.

"And go unmarried." I said, carefully looking both of them in the eye.

"So you're going to try." Hermione said. I nodded, trying to keep the nervous look off my face. Ginny bounced once, smiling.

"I don't even know how, but I will." I said bravely, hoping I'd have the guts to see this through.

Ginny left my rooms first, claiming a prior engagement. Hermione and I had tea and talked a bit about school, Severus, and how long it had been since we talked. Just before she left she turned to me and said seriously, apropos of nothing, "just talk to him, Anna. That's all he wants."

And maybe it was. We sat in Harry's house in the woods slowly killing a second bottle of wine and talking. We'd gone to a café but chosen to cook for ourselves when we learned the wait for a table was over an hour. That actually meant I followed Harry's directions about preparing ingredients while he cooked. A bitter emotion rose up in my throat as I watched him easily combining ingredients. This was a man I'd only get to know for a week.

"Your land in Idaho; what's it like?" He said, breaking a lull in our conversation. We'd been talking inanely about Hogwarts castle, and the change in focus surprised me. I considered.

"Dry. And cold, some of the time." I thought a few moments more. "It seems flat when you first get there, but it's high up and flat. You don't notice the elevation at first. It's covered in sage unless it's been grazed down. I guess it'll all be covered next time I'm there. I've sold the cattle."

"Cattle?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Mm." I nodded. "Between us, I kind of hate them." He let out a laugh. "They're vicious and stupid, Harry." I insisted.

"They sound like Slytherins," he said, laughing.

"I'm not getting in the middle of that." I demurred. "Severus could curse me into next week without breaking a sweat."

"Hermione wouldn't let him." Harry waved a hand in dismissal.

"I don't know about that." I said. "She's annoyed with me right now."

"What did you do?" Harry peered at me, curious.

"It's what I didn't do." I looked away toward the window. "I've only got a week to get married. And I'm not going to make it." An unpleasant silence fell. I sipped my wine, staring at the fireplace.

"You're sure." He said flatly.

"I think I'd know, Harry." I whispered. I took a deep breath and whipped my hair back behind my shoulder, angry with myself for acting pitiful.

"It's an idiotic law." He growled, straightening slightly from his easy slouch on the opposite end of the sofa.

"Damn right." I agreed.

"Do you want to go back to America?" He asked, looking steadily into my eyes. I looked back at him for a moment, considering.

"No." My fast answer surprised me. But it was true. I didn't. I wanted to stay home, and home was here. I felt my chest squeeze. I didn't want to talk about this anymore. After all that wine, I might just say something foolish. "I note you didn't offer to save me from a hexing by Severus, Harry." I dodged, forcing cheer into my voice.

"What's in it for me?" He smirked at me. I raised my eyebrow at him. He chuckled. I wrapped my arms around myself. I caught Harry watching the fabric of my top slowly slip from my shoulder. Now or never, Arthur. I shrugged slowly, sending the neckline farther down.

"What do you want?" I turned to him, meeting his eyes when he drew them back up to my face. The brilliant green was even visible in firelight. He reached a hand out and traced his index finger from my jaw down my neck, and over the curve of my shoulder. I took in a sharp breath.

"Anna," he said, his voice low and quiet. His hand traveled back up my shoulder to the nape of my neck, where his fingers wove into my hairline. At his gentle pressure I slid toward him. He reached around my back and lifted me onto his lap, pressing his lips to the side of my throat. I pushed my fingers into his hair, holding him to me as he worked his way up my throat to take my ear lobe in his teeth.

"Harry," I breathed, and his restraint seemed to break. His grip around my back tightened, and he kissed me, his tongue slashing across my lips. I felt myself moan as he explored my mouth, his hand leaving my head to slide across the skin of my shoulders. His full lips felt slightly rough on mine, and the calluses of his hands lightly scratched my skin. I could taste the red wine in his mouth and feel the muscles moving in his chest and arms. I pressed against the planes of his body, needing more of him.

I felt his hands drop to my hips and slide up my ribs; I broke from him, raising my arms so he could lift off my top. He swept his eyes down my camisole, then brought his thumbs up to trace the bottom curve of my breasts. I let my eyes close for a moment, and opened them as he slid us to a reclining position. He rolled me atop him, then against the back of the couch. I slid my fingers under the collar of his shirt and laid my head on his shoulder. His palm rested beneath my camisole on my ribcage, and his other hand curled in my hair. I watched goose bumps form on his skin as I breathed across the open neck of his shirt.

"We can't do this." Harry sighed, his voice tight.

"I know." I said. It was too little too late. We'd only make our separation more awkward. I closed my eyes. I could feel him dip his chin to look down at me. His breath floated over my eyelashes.

"Anna." He said seriously. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He looked back. "Will you stay?" I nodded, moving my thumb in a light arc over the skin near his collarbone. He pressed his slightly swollen lips to my forehead and relaxed his head back onto the couch, and we stilled for the night.


	25. Hard Knocks

**Hard Knocks**

"One minute he was about to score, and the next—I don't know!" Eliana babbled, gesturing pitifully at her now-boyfriend, the fourth-year Ravenclaw Chaser Andrew Boot.

"He was hit with a bludger, I'd say." I judged, trying to calm her without taking time away from my patient, who was still in dead faint from the pain of hitting the ground.

"Is he going to be all right?" She worried, twisting her hands almost comically.

"He'll be fine, El," I declared, making shooing gestures with my hand. "But I need you out of here for the next half hour. You can visit after that. Tell the team the same thing." I heard her start to shuffle her feet. "Go." I ordered.

"I'm going." She confirmed, her voice very unhappy. Poor Andrew Boot really just needed a nice pain potion and a moment to gather his wits, but I planned to heal his bruises as well. I set to work, happy to have a task to accomplish.

I'd spent the morning after leaving Harry's house hoping I'd done the right thing. I couldn't see any other decisions I should have made—though there probably were some—but I kept searching. The fact was, the night didn't turn out like they do in romantic movies. Nobody was going to live happily ever after. And adult or not, I hated it. I hated it and I wanted it changed. Well that's just too bad for you, Arthur.

I was still feeling sour well after I'd shooed the Ravenclaw team, Eliana, and young Mr. Boot back to their common rooms. I even resorted to shooting vigorous cleaning spells around the infirmary to work off steam. It was no good; none at all. I was mad. I'd been mad for three quarters of a day. I stood next to a window with my hands on my hips. Life's just not fair, Arthur. I grunted.

At my sound, Byron crept out of my office and sat next to me. I spread my fingers over his head. "Well, old buddy," I mused, "it still looks like we're leaving England."

"Are you so sure, Anna?" Hermione's voice sounded behind me. I turned quickly, nearly upsetting Byron.

"Hermione." I smiled. "What brings you here?"

"This." She said shortly, pushing the _Daily Prophet_ toward me. I took it, puzzled. "Look at the second column of the lower half of the page." I did as instructed, and I nearly dropped the paper.

"Hermione!" I squeaked, flummoxed and embarrassed. There on the front page of the entertainment section was a photograph of Harry and me walking out of the café the night before. He had his hand on my lower back, and I was smiling idiotically back at him. The headline blared: A Muggleborn Marriage?

"Have you talked to Harry?" Hermione brought me back to the present. I gaped at her a moment before answering.

"No—not today yet—not since this morning." I blurted.

"This morning?" Hermione raised her eyebrows at me.

"It's not like that." I insisted.

"Isn't it." Hermione deadpanned.

"No!" I bleated, blinking with panic and shock. "I didn't—I'm not—well I tried, but it didn't work—and I'm not—damn!" I flung my arms out from my sides, nonplussed.

"You need to talk to him." Hermione instructed.

"Do you know that he knows?"

"I'm not sure, no." Hermione said.

"I know." A deep voice said from the doorway. I flinched. Harry stood just inside the infirmary, looking awkward.

"What's all the squealing?" Abby asked happily, breezing in the door to take over for the night. I blinked at her.

"Nothing much, Abby." Hermione stepped in. She turned to me, passing the paper back into my hands. "I'll just get what I need from Abby, Anna." She looked me dead in the eye, willing me to play along and get out of the infirmary with Harry and the newspaper. I slapped a professional smile on my face.

"If you're sure you don't mind," I chirped.

"Oh go on, Anna." Abby smiled. "Byron wants to chase some students." Byron lumbered to his feet and sauntered toward the perky mediwitch. "Don't you, boy?" She cooed, patting him fondly on the head. Harry's head dipped, and I could see his shoulders start quaking. I walked toward him, gathering Byron on the way.

"Good night, Abby." I called, waving on my way past Harry. He fell in behind me.

"That was transparent," he muttered as we made our way down the hall.

"Well, we aren't all Aurors, Harry." I groused.

"Don't you think Abby had read the story, too?" He replied.

"What, afraid she'll think you're taken?" I scowled. He smirked at me. "Oh hush," I snapped. "You're in this up to your neck, too."

"In what?" He asked, slowing his pace. "It's just the _Prophet_." He came to a stop, peering at me. "What are you afraid of?"

I darted my eyes around the empty corridor, searching for words. I didn't really care that my photo was in the paper. I was a little embarrassed that I was staring up at Harry like a lovesick teenager, but that was just truth in advertising, really. What was I afraid of? Easy. I was afraid Harry would think I was just trying to marry him so I could stay in England. I was afraid of what he thought.

"It just…" I twisted my hands, still training my eyes on the castle stones. "I really do like you; I'm not just trying to marry you." I blurted. Immediately my face heated. Harry looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"So we'll tell them," he said, taking my elbow and pulling me along until I started to walk with him again, "that I," he paused, "have been trying to marry you." I stopped in my tracks.

"What?" I squeaked. "Tell who?" He turned back to me and put a hand on each of my shoulders.

"Classes will let out in a moment." He said calmly. I nodded. "Come on," he urged. Byron walked up next to Harry and looked at me expectantly. I joined them. We just beat the flood of students as we left the castle.

We went to Grimmauld Place first. I was confused, but no longer really willing to question the path we were on. I decided whatever it was had to be better than sitting in my room thinking the other shoe was going to drop, and at least Byron was there. Granted, he had forsaken me to walk next to Harry with his tongue lolling sideways. Males.

Snuffles and Byron tore up the stairs the moment we arrived. Harry seemed unperturbed. He walked me into the kitchen. "I'll be right back," he said. I wrinkled my forehead, but he was gone before I could question him. At least he was true to his word, and returned quickly.

"Harry, what are we…" I began. He ran his fingertips under my chin and brushed his thumb across my lower lip, cutting off my sentence.

"I told you." He smirked. He had not, I thought, but he was already moving and I was still following. "Byron's staying with Snuffles." He informed me.

"Harry," I fussed. He stopped short, and I nearly ran into him.

"Hang on." He said, wrapping his arms around me. I felt the tug in my stomach as he apparated us to a place I'd never seen. We stood near what looked to be the stone foundation of a destroyed house. A wild profusion of grass and flowers had grown up between the masonry. Harry caught hold of my hand and pulled me along as he strode to a corner of the foundation. He suddenly came to a stop and put his hand out.

To my surprise, a section of the view folded away, revealing a doorway. Harry sprung the locking charms and led me inside. He turned back to lock the door, and when he faced me again I was ready for him. I stood firmly with my arms folded in front of me.

"Harry." I demanded. "Where are we?"

"In a safe house," he explained, "where you will need to stay until the Wade verdict is announced tomorrow."

"I can't just leave like that…" I fussed.

"You can." He cut in.

I blinked, annoyed at the fuzziness of my brain. Why couldn't I think? Why had I gone along with this? Why had I even followed him out of Hogwarts? Damn it all… Wait a minute. Why did I follow him out of Hogwarts? "Did you jinx me?" I accused, putting my fists on my hips.

"It should be wearing off." He replied steadily. I glared at him. He looked back, unperturbed. Then I saw it. At first it seemed like a trick of the light. I squinted. No, that wasn't the light. That was bright red hair peeking out on Harry's head. And yes, those were freckles. My hand twitched toward my wand.

"I'll be going." The Harry / Fred hybrid chirped, as the effects of the polyjuice continued to wane. He gave a jaunty wave and slipped back through the door, setting a series of complex locking charms. As he did, the walls of the entry hall began to shine and fade, revealing a significantly plainer scene. I groaned dramatically. He'd locked me in a damn storage closet.


	26. Just Under the Wire

**Just Under the Wire**

Great work there, Arthur. You were completely taken in by the kind of practical joke played on girls Eliana's age. I huffed at myself. Stupid, stupid. I was relatively sure the closet wasn't within the castle. I was pretty sure I'd actually been at Grimmauld Place. But after that, all bets were off. I cursed under my breath in the silence of the closet. Nothing to do but wait for something to happen, Arthur. You're screwed.

After an undetermined length of time spent fuming, I fell asleep on the floor, too annoyed to stay awake any longer. I woke to a blast of light across my eyelids and a scuffle. The door slammed shut, and I heard the locking charms set. The glare had ruined my sight in the dark for the moment, but I could hear another person breathing.

"Hello?" I called quietly.

"Anna?" A male voice answered me. It sounded like Harry, but who could really tell?

"It's me." I felt a hand connect somewhat forcefully with my temple. "And that's my face."

"Sorry." He muttered. I began to feel more confident this was actually Harry.

"The twins brought you here, too?" I pried.

"Bloody Fred." Harry grunted, settling to my left. "How long have you been here?"

"Don't know." I shrugged. "Fred came to Hogwarts in the afternoon and got me from there."

"You followed him?" Harry said incredulously.

"No," I snapped. "I followed you, actually."

"You didn't." Harry shot back.

"I did. Fred used polyjuice." I heaved a sigh.

"Polyjuice?" Harry echoed me, a disbelieving lilt to his voice.

"Yeah." I shifted, then started to stretch, but hit Harry with my forearm. "Sorry." I muttered. He grabbed my arm and lowered it so it wouldn't hit him, but left his hand resting on my skin.

"It's all right." He sighed. His breath rushed against the outer edge of my arm. He must've turned toward me. I turned my face to where I thought he'd be, and I could just make out a darker area in the shadowy closet. I reached my hand toward it tentatively, and contacted the collar of his shirt.

"There you are…" I muttered. His hand closed over mine briefly. I withdrew my hand. "How do you think we get out of here?" Harry heaved a longsuffering sigh. "I don't like the sound of that." I grumbled. Harry chuckled.

"It's probably the same charm they used on Ron." He declared.

"Which was?"

"They shut him in a closet with Luna once and wouldn't let them out until they snogged." Harry paused. "It took Ron ages to figure it out." I snickered.

"Well?" I prodded. Harry's hand crept up my arm to my neck I felt him lean over me, his breath brushing my face. His lips barely touched mine before he drew away. The locking charms stayed in place.

"That's not it." He concluded. Then I felt him lean toward me again, reaching around my back to pull me closer. "Do you mind?" He asked. I shook my head, then remembered he probably couldn't see me. I shifted my weight and threw a leg over him, straddling his lap. I ran my palms up the side of his face, feeling him grin.

"No." I whispered. I pressed my lips to his, darting my tongue out to trace his lower lip. He groaned, grasping at my hips. I arched against him, pushing him against the wall. We tangled around one another in the dark, pressed together almost painfully.

I woke the next morning to a gentle light and Harry's hand in my hair. He was methodically running his fingers through the strands, scalp to tip. I melted against his side, where I'd been sleeping. He pressed his lips to my forehead when he saw I was awake.

"Morning," I said quietly.

"I meant to be at the Ministry today to hear Wade's judgment." Harry mused. I ran my hand over the planes of his chest and stomach.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." His voice rumbled up beneath my head.

"I'm going to miss you." I muttered. He was quiet; I listened to his even breathing. I suppose I wanted him to say something—that he'd miss me too—but when it came down to it we'd only snogged twice. That was all. It just didn't feel that way—not to me. The longer he was quiet, the more I suspected he didn't feel the same.

"You don't have to." His voice broke into my self-pity. I had come so far into my thought pattern I couldn't remember what he was referring to.

"Harry?" I asked.

"You don't have to miss me. You don't have to go." His voice was stronger now, as though he'd marshaled some bravery.

"The law…" I began.

"I know." He cut me off. "Marry me."

For a moment I stopped breathing. I think my heart stopped beating. Finally I gasped, and picked my head up to look at him. "Are you…?" I began, my voice creaking.

"Marry me, Anna." Harry said again, his voice certain and his gaze steady. He ran his fingers down the side of my face, gently tracing my hairline. He gave me a half-smile. "And don't ask me if I'm sure."

I didn't. I put my face into the center of his chest and cried. After a long stretch of sobbing with Harry's arms curled around my back, I realized I'd never answered. I started to laugh, choking slightly as I continued sobbing as well. Harry reached a hand under my chin to lift my face.

"What?" He asked, a puzzled and nervous look on his face.

"I didn't give you an answer," I laughed. He looked utterly confused. "I meant to say yes, Harry. Yes." His face smoothed over immediately, and he crushed me against him, hard. I felt a relieved sigh leave his chest—I hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. I turned my head to the side, finally stilling my laughter and sobs. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"We can't get married until we get out of here." I pointed out. He chuckled.

"Bloody twins," he said, still laughing gently.

"All counts?" I confirmed, still processing what Harry'd told me. We stood in the lobby of Ministry Headquarters in our rumpled clothes, having spent a day and a half stuck in the supply closet of the 3W Hogsmeade branch. Harry had grown a truly disreputable looking beard in that time, and my hair was in a state.

"Yes," Harry nodded, putting an arm around my waist and leading me toward the door. "They convicted him on all counts and have cleared prosecution of his associates."

"Congratulations." I wrapped an arm around him and gave him a quick squeeze.

"Thanks," he replied, leading me toward the elevator to muggle London.

"Where are we headed?" I pressed, trying to keep up with his strides.

"Away from that photographer." He said tersely, jerking his head slightly towards the left. I started to turn, but he squeezed my side. "Don't look. They might try to follow us."

"They do that?" I asked, a little incredulous.

"They do." He sighed. I quickened my steps toward the elevator. When we made the street level Harry turned sharply down an alley before apparating us to another alley outside his flat. We sped into the building like we were being watched.

Once we were safely inside Harry's flat the hilarity of the situation started to hit me. I started out trying to keep a straight face, but quickly progressed to full laughter. Harry just peered at me, then around the room, and back at me.

"What?" He asked, finally.

"It's—I mean we…" I coughed trying to contain myself enough to speak. "Harry, you're engaged to a woman you met because she posed in a girly magazine." I cracked up. Harry started grinning. I pulled myself together a little and continued: "And now you're running from the press."

"You forgot the bit about getting engaged after snogging in a closet." He added, chuckling.

"Which you only figured out you could blast your way out of, Auror Potter, after we'd slept there." I teased.

"You think that wasn't intentional, Anna?" He smirked. I nudged him in the ribs. He locked his arms around me, squeezing me against his chest. I felt him release one arm and reach behind him. I looked at him curiously. Wandlessly and wordlessly, he called something to his hand. He looked at me seriously for a moment. "Anna," he began.

"What?" His focused look worried me. He reached up to grip my shoulder gently.

"It wasn't the closet, you know." He said seriously, handing me a jewelry box. I turned it over in my hands, incredulous.

"You—you already had this." I stuttered.

"I was going to ask." He confirmed. I stretched up to my toes and pressed a kiss to his jaw. He smiled. I pried the box open and slid the simple band on my finger, then twined my left hand in his right. He lifted our hands up and watched the light from the window gleam on the ring. I smiled against his chest.


	27. A House in the Woods

Thanks for the reviews, all. I love them. I'm continuing for now, but I'm unsure that's wise. If you've got an opinion either way--continue or stop--I'd love to hear it.

And in case it isn't clear: I don't own anything beyond the Arthur family, Abby, Byron, and Eliana. And to my chagrin, I'm not making any money.

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**A House in the Woods**

"Anna—Anna! Anna!" Eliana's voice shot above the odd silence in the hallway, then was submerged by muttering voices. Harry and I had walked into Hogwarts Monday afternoon after filing the last of our paperwork. It was done: we hadn't had a wedding, really, but we were married. Harry's grip tightened on my hand, and I could feel his smooth wedding band, warm from his skin.

Literally hundreds of students filled the hallway, many at a dead stop with their friends, staring at the healer and the war hero. "We're making a scene." I muttered. Harry squeezed my hand again.

"Don't worry," he said quietly, moving to put his hand on the small of my back and usher me toward the stairs. The gentle pressure of his hand got me moving. One foot in front of the other, Arthur—wait, it's Potter now. Oh my.

"Anna!" Eliana arrived in front of us, panting, the longsuffering Andrew Boot in tow. He shifted nervously. Eliana rocked on to the balls of her feet, excited. "You got married?"

The hallway around us fell quiet in a wave as students hushed each other to hear the answer. I looked over the group and fought the urge to roll my eyes. Harry stepped forward beside me.

"Yes, we're married." He said, clearly for the benefit of the group. He slid his hand back into mine. A rustle passed through the crowd all the way back to the stairs.

"So you're staying?" A voice called from the middle of the group. I squinted into the mass of uniforms, trying to figure out who spoke. "It was me." The voice continued, and the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team waved his long arm in the air. I nodded at him.

"Yes, I'm staying at Hogwarts." I said loudly. Another rustle passed to the back of the hallway. Silence fell again, and no one moved. I had a flash vision of all of us continuing to stand here in the hallway, staring at one another, until night fell. "You do still have lessons this afternoon." I nagged. The noise level in the hall rose to normal, and the crowd started to move. Eliana hitched her school bag back up on her shoulder and said goodbye, splitting ways with Andrew Boot a few steps away from us. Harry's hand returned to my back, and we made our way to the stairs.

Byron flew at Harry the moment we entered my quarters. He put his paws on Harry's shoulders and licked his face, whining with excitement. Harry attempted to guard his glasses from the onslaught with one arm and tried to pry Bryon off of him with the other.

"Something you two aren't telling me?" I teased. At my voice, Byron leapt off of Harry and ran to me, upsetting a small table on the way. Harry took off his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve after dragging the cuff over his face. "Did he do any permanent damage?" I asked, chuckling.

"I'm going to have nightmares." Harry said dryly. Byron had rolled on his back, his feet pedaling in the air. Harry grinned at him.

"Aw, you'll hurt his feelings," I cooed, scratching Byron's belly. He shot out happy puffs of air. Harry shook his head, still grinning. I'd arranged for a week away from Hogwarts. It wasn't much of a honeymoon, but it was close enough under the circumstances. Besides, it'd take at least a week to figure out where we would live, and whether we'd have a wedding or reception—or anything. And it might take most of a week for me to get up the bravery to introduce Harry to Jack. My stomach rolled a little. If there's one thing you can count on in the Arthur family, it's overreacting. I was nervous.

"Anna." Harry began, turning from the window to face me again. "I thought we could stay at my house, first. We don't have to stay there—but the press won't leave us alone in London."

"I hadn't thought of that." I stood to join him by the window. Outside the kids were practicing on the pitch.

"I'm sure there's at least one story by now." He muttered. "But we can keep them from getting photographs."

"Do you not want people to know?" I tried to ask with a level voice.

"Anna, no." Harry said firmly, turning to look at me. "They won't report the truth." He sighed, looking up for a moment. "Hermione told you about Rita Skeeter?" I searched my brain. "During the Triwizard Tournament," Harry prompted. Oh yes. That awful reporter.

"Hermione said she lied about you." I began. Harry scowled.

"She lied about Hermione." He cut in, his voice tense. "She wrote things that still come up, even now."

"Harry," I began, trying to reassure him.

"No, Anna. I won't have them printing things about you." He set his jaw.

"Harry." I cut in. "I'm not a kid; Hermione was." I met his eyes. He let out a slow breath. His face suddenly looked weary.

"I want a week without them." He said quietly.

"Then let's go home before they figure out where we are." I concluded. I gave him a swift peck on the lips and felt the beginnings of his smile. Less than an hour later we were in the woods again, with Byron, walking toward Harry's house.

Byron immediately shot upstairs like he owned the place. I let out a surprised noise, but Harry laughed. "Don't," he said, as I turned to follow Byron and get him under control. "You live here." Impulsively, I latched onto his neck, grinning. He pulled the tie out of my hair and threw it across the room.

"Harry," I complained. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he looked down at me. He flipped my hair into my face. I let go of him to bat it away. "Hey," I scolded. He did it again. "Harry!"

"Is there a problem, Anna?" He smirked.

"Yes," I exclaimed. "You!"

"You don't mind," he said surely, pushing the hair from my face and kissing me deeply. I held onto him, happy with the feel of his arms around my ribs. Byron came flying down the stairs with something bright red in his mouth. I sprang out of Harry's arms and grappled for him.

"Byron!" I hollered. He executed a sloppy turn on the slick floor, nearly losing traction entirely. I put my hand down at the level of his mouth. "Here." I commanded. Byron obligingly put his muzzle on my hand, but tried to tug back when I grabbed the red thing. "No, Byron." I said sharply, finally prying the object loose. I held it up, grimacing at the layer of slobber.

"It's a bone." Harry contributed. I squinted at it.

"It's knitted?" I wondered aloud. "It is; it's knitted."

"Gryffindor colors, too." Harry mused. "I think it's Byron's, Anna." Harry concluded. I nodded.

"But if you don't know how it got here…"

"Then it was probably Dobby." Harry said with certainty. I frowned.

"All right, I guess." I tossed it across the floor, sending Byron skittering happily. I wiped my hands on my jeans with a look of slight disgust. He must've been chewing on it a while. "Wonder where he found it."

"Let's look." Harry said, ushering me toward the stairs. I shook back the momentary nervousness at passing the threshold into the private areas of Harry's house. Our house, I reminded myself. We came to the top of the stairs, where a large bedroom and sitting area were set up under the pitched roof. A door at the far wall led to what I assumed was the bathroom. The honey-colored wood in the entire space seemed to shine in the light from the sunset, which was clearly visible from large dormer windows. I wandered over to the windows, struck again by the view.

"Do you like it?" Harry's voice carried to me. I turned to see him standing awkwardly by the stair railing. I stretched my arm out to him, gulping back a sudden lump in my throat. He wanted me here. He actually did. It wasn't duty. He walked toward me, taking my hand first, then curling an arm around my back. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"I love it." I said quietly. I felt his breath even out as we stood watching the slow sunset. I could hear Byron lolling on the floor behind us. Eventually, Harry stirred.

"Dobby brought Byron's bed." Harry said. I turned and followed his gaze. Sure enough, the multicolored bed rested at the foot of the large bed. I smiled. Beside it was a small basket of knitted toys in the shapes of muggle dog toys.

"Look," I said happily, pointing at the basket. I walked to it, and Harry followed. Byron immediately sat in front of us, his tail thumping the floor. Harry plucked a toy from the basket, an odd look on his face.

"I think it's a snitch," he said. I looked at the odd ball of gold yarn in his hands. Harry gave it an experimental toss. To our visible surprise the knitted toy sprouted tiny wings and skittered excitably across the floor. Byron flailed after it, barely making progress on the wooden floor. The snitch began to speed up and gain altitude.

"Harry," I worried, grabbing momentarily at his forearm.

"Don't worry," he assured me, taking off in the direction of the toy. The snitch sped upward and lingered at the peak of the roof. Byron circled on the floor beneath it, barking happily.

"What now?" I asked Harry, who'd also come to a stop beneath the toy. I had a flash vision of the snitch dive bombing us in our sleep. Not exactly conducive to romance. I saw Harry attempt to summon it, his brow wrinkling when it didn't work.

"Er…" he trailed off, backing away from the toy to watch it bash itself against the rafters. "Perhaps Dobby could…" He trailed off again when the snitch dove. Harry and Byron leapt at it, both landing perilously close to the staircase. I gasped, my wand out to shoot a levitation spell at them. The snitch put on a burst of speed and trapped itself near one of the windows. I hurried toward it.

"There has to be a way," I paused jumping at the toy, "to shut it off." I leapt again, falling far short.

"It has a height advantage," Harry laughed behind me.

"You hush," I scolded, frowning at the snitch as it headed for the rafters again. "How'd he think a dog would ever get it up there?"

"I think it's malfunctioning." Harry said, rummaging in a closet. He emerged holding a broomstick.

"Oh no," I said forcefully. "You are not flying in here." He raised his eyebrow at me, a challenging look on his face. "You'll break your neck."

"I won't." He countered.

"You could." I said stubbornly. He shifted his grip on the broom. "Please, Harry." I said, worried. He slowed. "Please?"

"All right," he sighed. He pushed his hands through his wild hair, making it stand up even more. Byron stood at attention, his tail raised. The snitch hovered at shoulder level, darting around the room.

"Maybe it'll shut itself off if we leave it." I said, only a little hopeful.

"We could try," Harry said dubiously.

"Let's do that." I said, trying to put a tone of finality in my voice. Harry nodded.

"There isn't much more to see," he noted. "Just the bathroom, really."

"And the back of the house." I added. "You said you went flying here."

"I do. But that doesn't require a garden." He smiled.

"I'd like to see it anyway, sometime." I said. Harry inclined his head, an indulgent grin on his face. "I'm going to snoop in your bathroom," I announced. His grin split into a full smile as I marched through the bathroom door.


	28. The Sanity Pact

**The Sanity Pact**

Harry had lied—though only a little—about the structure of the house. The bathroom was not the only remaining room, nice as it was. No, the house had a basement level. In it was a thoroughly stocked wine cellar with zones of different temperatures that put the serum storage facilities at my alma mater to shame. I gawked at the bottles, not aware enough of fine wine to know why I ought to be impressed, but impressed all the same.

I followed my feet to another, smaller room. A locked door led out through its other side, and only a few bits of quidditch equipment and broom repair materials sat on shelves against the walls. The entire place looked a little dusty and out of use. I heard Byron join me from the wine cellar, where he'd been poking his muzzle into and out of the chilled areas. He crossed the room and smelled intently at the crack under the locked door.

"Come on, pup," I urged, patting my hand to my leg. "You can't go in there." I turned back toward the stairs, suddenly eager to rejoin Harry. Byron had flattened himself on the floor and pressed his nose to the crack beneath the door. "Byron," I called sharply. "Up you get. Come on." I clapped my hands. His ears turned toward me, but he stayed still.

I walked over to him with an annoyed sigh, determined to wrestle him up the stairs. My skin pricked unpleasantly when I neared the door. I shook my head to dispel my sudden discomfort with the place. "Come on now, Byron." I said, grabbing his collar firmly and yanking him away from the door. When I touched him a shock ran up my arm. I winced, starting to worry. As I dragged the protesting Byron from the room I couldn't help looking over my shoulder at the door, wondering what on earth could require such strong locks.

I came upstairs, secure in my intention to ask Harry what on earth he was hiding in his basement. Yes, I meant to do that. But he was wearing an apron. An apron with _ruffles_. I turned to shut the door to the basement, tensing to contain my laughter.

"Did you find any doxies?" He teased, turning to his pantry and back again. As he turned toward the stove, I got a better look at the apron.

"Kiss the cook?" I blurted, reading the flashy script embroidered on the apron top.

"Tonks gave it to me." He said, pinning me with a no-nonsense look.

"It's fetching," I teased, losing control of a small giggle at the end.

"The sauce splatters." Harry explained, gesturing toward a simmering pot with his wooden spoon.

"Doesn't make it any less fetching," I laughed. He rolled his eyes and made a longsuffering face just like Hermione's. I clapped my hand over my face. "Sorry," I muttered through my fingers.

"You aren't." He said, the corners of his mouth curling upward. He turned back to the stove to do something that looked purposeful and related to cooking. Yes, I think it's fair to say I wouldn't know how to prepare a meal if it didn't involve sandwiches of some kind. I guess that'll just be an unpleasant surprise for him later. I turned toward the table, meaning to sit, but Byron's reflection caught my eye in the glass.

He'd pressed himself against the door to the basement, his nose jammed tight against the jamb. He whined a little, and sniffed deeply. I patted the side of my leg to call him. "Byron, leave it," I cajoled.

"What's he doing?" Harry said, not looking away from the stove.

"He started sniffing at a door in the basement; I think he just wants to go back down there." I said dismissively, walking toward Byron with the intent of distracting him.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, cutting the fires on the stove and setting down his spoon. "What door?" He turned to face me as he wiped his hands dry on the edge of his apron.

"The locked one. Just through the little room with the quidditch stuff in it." I noted, distracted by my attempt to wrestle my huge dog away from the door.

"Locked door?" Harry asked with a note of confusion in his voice. I looked up toward him, releasing Byron's neck.

"With the locking charms on it," I clarified, "through the wine cellar."

"Show me?" Harry still sounded a little mystified. I put my hands on my hips and regarded him steadily.

"Harry. Please don't. This kind of thing freaks me out." He shook his head, looking a little confused.

"Just show me," he said calmly, untying the silly apron. "I'm sure it's nothing. I haven't spent much time down there."

"You didn't lock it?" My voice broke into a squeak.

"I didn't lock anything down there. But some of the rooms existed before I owned the house." Harry said calmly. He shoved at his hair, which fell insistently back to his forehead. I wrapped my arms around myself. Come on, here, Anna. Don't be a wimp in front of the savior of the wizarding world. For crying out loud.

"Let me put Byron in another room first?" I took a corner of my lower lip into my mouth. "I don't want him getting in to anything." Harry nodded. I grabbed at Byron's collar again and manhandled him until he chose to follow me into the next room. I set up a repelling charm in the doorway and refused to look back as he threw himself against it, barking worriedly.

"Let's go." Harry said calmly, opening the door to the basement and starting down the stairs. His manner wasn't reassuring as it might have been; he had his wand out.

"Behind you," I muttered, gulping. Yeah right. Right behind you and ready to flee, I grumbled to myself. I could just imagine what Severus would say about this. We reached the landing, where I gestured toward the wine cellar. Harry continued to lead.

"Through here?" He asked, gesturing toward the back wall. I nodded, becoming stiff with apprehension. Was now a good time to tell him I even got spooked about doxies? I shut my eyes for a moment and inhaled sharply.

"Past here," I said, squaring my shoulders and marching through the break in the wall that led to the little room. Harry walked just in front of me, his wand still at the ready.

"Where now?" He asked, his head swiveling to take in the walls of the room.

"We're looking right at it," I said, confused.

"I thought it was a door," he muttered.

"It is, Harry." I walked to his side, pointing at it. "It's right there." I looked back at him. He looked at me, slightly shaking his head.

"I don't see a door."

"You have to," I frowned. "It's…" I started to reach toward it, but recoiled thinking of the odd shock I received last time.

"What is it?" Harry peered at me. I looked back at him, as though he could see it if I stared at him long enough.

"I touched it before, and it shocked me." I mumbled. Oh, stop being such a girl, Anna.

"Shocked you?" Harry looked a little worried. A twinge of remorse went through me.

"I'm sure it's nothing. When I pulled Byron away from it I felt tingling up my arm as I pulled him, and it felt like a shock when it hit my shoulder." I explained, switching to my healer voice in an attempt to stay calm.

"It's something, then." Harry insisted, walking toward the wall.

"What're you doing?" I blurted.

"I think it's concealed; I might be able to feel it." He mumbled, intently feeling the wall. His wand was still pointed toward the stones. I stood back, my hands clutching uselessly at the seams of my pants. "There it is." Harry muttered. He turned to me. "There—is that the edge when you see it?"

"The left edge, yes," I confirmed. Harry's wand pushed through a series of motions I couldn't quite track. A powerful light enclosed the span of the wall where the door had been cut through. When it faded, Harry backed up a small step.

"I'd never seen that before." He muttered to himself.

"What are you going to do?" I worried.

"Break in, eventually." He said quietly.

"Harry!" I squawked. "You don't know what's in there." He turned to me, grinning sort of like Sirius.

"That's what makes it interesting," he said, backing up one more step. "You might not want to watch." He noted to me, still smiling in a slightly alarming way.

"No," I countered, "I'm staying." I stepped behind him again, preparing to wait a while. If he needed patching up after this, I wasn't going to stand by and hope he could manage the apparation to St. Mungo's. No way.

Harry quickly lost me in the set of spells he hurled at the door. Hermione had mentioned the brief time Harry'd spent training with another one of the Weasleys—an older brother—who was a curse breaker. I had a feeling curse breaking often looked like this, but as I watched I wasn't sure I ever wanted to find out. In my mind something truly unpleasant was behind that door, something that had to be hidden from a prospective buyer of a lovely house in the woods. I bit at my lip again.

The door glowed red, then orange, then yellow. Harry stepped back to me, then pulled me along as he stepped back some more. The heat from the door rolled forward in a wave along the floor and rising. The door suddenly darkened to blue, and then to green. At last it went black, and the heat stopped. Harry walked toward it, a determined look on his face. I fished my wand out of my sleeve and held it ready. He opened the door.

I barely had time to register a shadowy and dusty basement room beyond the door before what I knew to be a boggart flew out. I knew that's what it was. I knew! But my stomach still clenched and my eyes still watered. I watched it form the shape of my father's body, just as I'd found it, bleeding from the mouth and nose. I felt the sound leave my mouth, I didn't truly hear it. But I was shouting the right spell, and forming it, and ending the vision. I backed up, breathing hard, until I felt the wall behind me.

I didn't realize I'd closed my eyes until I felt Harry's hands on my shoulders, running down my arms and back up. I blinked at him, staring. He'd shut the door. He didn't speak until we were back in the warm kitchen, sitting at the table, each with a glass of wine.

"You're all right?" He asked, his eyes boring into mine. I was ashamed, and dipped my head.

"Yes, of course," I muttered quickly. "It was just a boggart."

"I saw what it was." He said. I took a slow sip of my wine. Harry mirrored me. I took a careful breath. I thought. I'd never told him about my family, besides Jack and Max and Lana.

"It was my father." Harry blinked once, and looked directly at me. "That's my boggart. It's my father's body." I flicked my eyes to the wall, then back to my wine glass. "I might as well tell you now," I muttered. I looked up at him. "My dad killed himself just after he married his second wife. He took a fatal dose of a sleeping drug he knew he was allergic to. It was ruled an accident, but we knew."

"You knew." Harry said quietly.

"I found him." I admitted. I stared fixedly at my wine glass, suddenly afraid of what he'd say.

"Is that why you didn't want to open the door?" Harry asked, gently.

"No," I chuckled lightly. "I didn't think of anything that sensible."

"Monsters, then?" Harry asked lightly, his hand resting gently on mine.

"Who knows?" I said, finally looking up at him.

"Maybe we can train Byron to hunt boggarts for you," Harry said, a slight smile coming to his lips. His fingers traced the back of my hand as it rested on the table. At the sound of his name Byron lunged at the barrier keeping him out of the kitchen, an impatient whine exploding from his muzzle. His nails tapped on the floor as I crossed the room to dispel the barrier. By the time I returned to the table Harry had summoned his prepared dinner for us, with a refill of wine.

He didn't want to make me face it. He didn't want to make me get over it. I didn't either. He just wanted to get on with life. I wanted to do that too. The moment was over by the time I had these thoughts, but I found I wanted to tell him: I'm game. I'll try it if you will.


	29. It Comes Down to This

**It Comes Down to This**

Our conversation ground to a halt that evening as the fire dwindled. Byron was fast asleep on his back on a cushion near the hearth. His forelegs pedaled in the air meditatively as he dreamed. Harry sat on the end of the couch with his legs propped on an ottoman; I had rested my head on his legs and stretched the length of the couch. He ran his hand through my hair, and I closed my eyes.

"Anna," Harry's quiet voice carried down to me. I opened my eyes again. He looked down at me; his fingers were still tangled in my hair. "We should go to bed."

"You're right." I said, starting to curl up to a sitting position. Harry put a hand under my shoulders to help me get upright. I saw him send our empty glasses sailing toward the kitchen, and heard two light noises when they rested in the sink. I blinked my eyes hard and started to get to my feet.

"I'll be up." Harry said, walking toward the kitchen. I nodded, heading up the stairs. I was nearly at the top when two realities hit me: I was going to spend the night with Harry, and this was technically our wedding night. Every ounce of sleepiness shot out of my brain.

I walked into the bathroom to get a hairbrush and commanded myself to think logically. I stood near one of the dormer windows dragging the brush down my hair. I could hear Harry's even footsteps approaching the stairs, and I scolded myself for acting like someone I wasn't. It wasn't like I'd never been in a serious relationship before. For crying out loud. Then something slapped against my shoulder blade, hard. I yelped.

"Anna?" Harry's footsteps hastened up the stairs. "Are you all right?" He called. I stood by the window staring into the room with the hairbrush held uselessly in front of me. Harry stood a moment at the top of the stairs with a confused look on his face.

"Something ran into me, I think," I said, flummoxed.

"Ran into you?" Harry asked.

"There!" I hollered, lunging toward a glint of gold near the closet doors. "Byron's snitch, Harry."

"It's still flying, then?" He muttered, annoyed.

"Little help, here," I blurted, tripping over the end of a blanket. I heard Harry's choked snickering as I picked myself up off the floor.

"We'll corner it, Anna." He said, his voice finally free of laughter. "You come toward it from that end. I'll come from this side." I did as he asked. We moved slowly, glaring at the golden ball.

"What now?" I asked as we neared a low corner of the pitched roof.

"You hold back; I'll go for it." He instructed, never taking his eyes off the snitch.

"Got it." I confirmed, coming to a stop but staying at the ready. Harry watched the snitch make figure eights in the air for a few moments, then dove at it. Then several things happened at once.

First, Byron had shaken off the remains of his slumber and come upstairs. He ran full pelt toward the corner where we'd corralled the snitch. When he arrived he took Harry's knees out from under him, weakening the strength of Harry's jump and making it nearly impossible to land. In his shock and bewilderment, Byron slid onto his stomach with his paws in front of him to keep from slamming into the wall. Harry's abortive leap for the snitch sent him vaulting over Byron to land shoulder first on the wooden floor. The impact then caused me to jump, which startled Hedwig from her night perch. She took to the rafters, stirring globs of dust from the uppermost reaches of the ceiling. The rain of dust bunnies coated us all, sending me into an emphatic string of sneezes. Byron shook furiously. Harry coughed once, and, to my shock, raised a fist. In it was one knitted snitch-shaped dog toy, wingless at last.

"For chrissakes," I blustered, stopping to sneeze, "torch the damn thing!" Harry muttered a spell, and the toy flared in his hand before sifting through his fingers in a cloud of ash.

"Done." Harry said, finally rising up to lean on one hand. He gingerly rolled the shoulder he'd landed on. Hedwig had come to roost on one of the rafters, her brilliant eyes large and impatient. Byron let out a massive sneeze. I shot a cleaning spell at the entire room, removing the dust.

"If you take Hedwig I'll take Byron," I offered. Harry nodded, clambering to his feet. He held out his uninjured arm, and Hedwig flew to it. He simply asked her to return to her perch, and she flew off. Byron, however, had regained his feet on his own. He was grinding the sides of his face into the floor, desperate to get the remains of the dust out of his whiskers. I called him and shot a weak cleaning spell at his coat. He loped over to his bed and set to licking his paws. I stood, smoothing my hair back behind my shoulders.

"Before you say it," Harry said, his mouth curving into a grin, "my shoulder is fine."

"Will you let me see it anyway?" I tried to ask patiently.

"Anything for you, darling." He smirked.

"Do you want to sleep on the couch?" I teased.

"No," he said, his voice suddenly low and deep. He walked toward me, his eyes on mine. I reached to his shirt and started on the buttons.


	30. One Family

**One Family**

It turns out all that time I spent trying to think of a way to tell Jack I'd gotten married was wasted. We'd hardly gone through the door of his apartment when he snatched up my left hand, ripped off my glove, and peered at my ring finger. I was just about to start an abridged version of my speech when he hauled me (by the ring finger, for heaven's sake) across the hallway to Lana and waved my left hand in her face. I yanked my hand back, then, and gave him a glare. Being Jack, he didn't notice.

"Drinks are on you, baby," he crowed. Lana shook her head gently, and her hair glinted as it swung against the sides of her face. She grinned at Jack, and then at me. "I told you," Jack went on. "I told you she stayed in Scotland for New Year's because she had a man."

"You did not," Lana laughed. She looked at me, and I imagine I was gaping back at her. Jack had known? He can't have. "Anna, don't listen to him. He said he thought you were dating someone."

"Married is close enough," Jack declared. I snorted.

"What was the bet?" I asked Lana, as I was pretty sure Jack would make himself look more like a prophet than he was.

"Drinks for tonight," she said. She finished unwinding her jewel-toned scarf from her neck and handed it to Jack, who, I noticed, already had his hand out to take it. I wasn't surprised about them at all. When I'd arrived at Jack's she'd been there, and she'd told me herself that Jack had told her I was a witch. She didn't mind. She really, actually, didn't mind.

"Scotch all around then?" I teased. Lana smiled at Jack, and he smiled back. Once he'd stowed both their coats he turned around, and I realized they were almost dressed alike. Yes, this was all going well.

"I think so. It's too damn cold for cocktails," Lana declared. Without another word from either of us, Jack headed for the side bar to pour the drinks. He even walked different. I know it sounds stupid, but he did. You could look at him and know he was happy—not just smiling. Happy.

I stopped to kick off my grimy boots before I stepped onto Jack's living room carpet. Lana went before me and sprawled on the settee Jack inherited from our grandmother. I know this sounds stupid, too, but it was good to see her there on the family furniture. I guess what I mean is this: too many of the girls Jack dated only wanted him because he was an Arthur. They were the kind of women who would look at an old settee like that and get stuck on how much it was worth. They'd never think to just sit on it and get comfortable. You know? I flicked my eyes over to Jack and found him looking at her too. At times like these I like to imagine Jack thinks what I think.

"All right, Pix. Enough mystery, witch."

"Jack," Lana admonished. He handed me my drink first, maybe as a peace offering and maybe as a way to avoid Lana's scolding look. I grinned at him.

"No, it's fair," I announced. I punched the throw pillow between my hip and the arm of the sofa and tucked my feet up beside me. "Fire away."

"Who is he?" Lana blurted. She paused and looked at me for a second. "I mean, if that's what you want to say first. I think you won't get out of the room without spilling all of it, though."

"Yeah, Pix. You know I'll just get you drunk enough." Jack lowered himself onto the floor in front of Lana and leaned back against a pillow she shoved behind him. She rested her hand on his shoulder, and he briefly put his hand over hers.

"Okay, okay," I laughed. "No threats, all right? Ask away, like I said."

"Who is he?" Lana repeated.

"He's Harry Potter, and I've taken his last name."

"Anna Potter. Damn, that's weird." Jack muttered. Lana gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Jack, did you tell Lana about the war?" I lifted my eyebrows at Jack, and he nodded as he swallowed a sip of his drink. Lana nodded as well, her face sad. "Well, Harry was the child Voldemort tried to kill."

"Holy shit, Pix!" Jack's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Lana gave Jack a light slap on the shoulder and nodded at me.

"He works for the Ministry now, as an Auror." Jack opened his mouth, and I held up my hand. "It's like a CIA agent, kind of."

"He's a spy?"

"No, Jack." I peered at the ceiling for a minute, trying to find the words. "I guess he's more like an FBI agent." Lana gave me an encouraging nod. I took a slow sip of my drink and tried to answer the question they weren't asking. "He is okay. He had to kill Voldemort when he was just a teenager, and he'd never say it was easy, but he's all right. He's sane."

"So how'd you meet him?" Lana put a bright tone in her voice, though her eyes still looked a little unnerved.

"That's a better story," I laughed. And against my better judgment, really, I told them the whole truth. I told them about the marriage law, and about the twins' attempts to set me up. I told them about Byron and the house in the woods, and how there was a creepy room in the basement. In fact, it was the most I'd ever told Jack about the wizarding world in one sitting. By the time I realized that, Jack and Lana both looked tired, and the booze was almost tapped.

"So what now, Pix?" Jack drawled. "Do we ever meet this Harry Potter?"

"I don't have to go," Lana said quickly, giving her head a comical shake.

"I want you to," I declared. "I want you and Jack and Max to come meet everyone. I don't want to have two families." Jack wrinkled his forehead, and Lana's eyebrows drew down. "I just want one, with all of you in it," I clarified. "I don't care that you aren't magical."

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The next morning I became Jack's hero. I produced three vials of hangover potion from my traveling case, and doled them out to each of us. Jack's face brightened instantly, and he shot up from the kitchen table with a look of purpose about him. I squinted in his direction.

"I'm getting us tickets to London." Lana brought in three mugs of coffee and set them down on the table. Jack snatched his up and strode over to his phone.

"Get a hotel, too, hon," she reminded. Jack nodded, already waiting for the travel agent to answer. I turned to Lana.

"You really could stay with us," I began. She shook her head.

"Jack told me he visited you once and couldn't turn the lights off."

"Oh yeah," I laughed. "He couldn't unlock his door, either." Jack shot me a look while he sat on hold. Lana and I started cracking up as quietly as possible, but I'm pretty sure the travel agent could hear. Fortunately for him we were interrupted by the arrival of a barn owl. I wrenched open the kitchen window with some difficulty, and the owl gave me an irritated glare when it swooped in to land on the faucet. I handed it a crust and untied a small package and a scroll from its leg.

"That's the owl post, isn't it?" Lana's excitement reminded me of the first-year kids at Hogwarts, and I grinned at her.

"Yes. That one was a delivery owl, not a personal one." I untied the string around the package and started to unfold the brown paper around it.

"We're on for two days from now, babe," Jack announced. "I'm going to call work on my office phone. You can use my cell if you want." He shoved the phone across the table next to her mug and winked at her. She smiled at his back as he walked toward his office, then turned back toward me.

"Is it from Harry?" She pried. I chuckled.

"I don't know yet," I said. I'd been in America for a while before I got up the nerve to go see Jack and Lana. Actually, I'd taken the week to be with Harry after our wedding. I'd then returned to Hogwarts for the rest of term, where, according to Hermione, I 'avoided the subject' of telling my family. I then spent a week with Norm before finally going to New York. Jack and Lana, of course, weren't aware of this saga. But everyone at home was.

I flicked open the scroll and was only a little surprised to find Ginny's scrawl on the inside. There was about a paragraph of greetings from everyone I knew in the UK, then this: _I've sent some bits of fabric. Don't you dare come back without choosing one. I've got to get your dress made for your reception, and everything else depends on your dress. But don't worry—once you've chosen a fabric, I'll do everything else._

I let out a little choking noise. Lana gave me a worried look. Then I started laughing. I explained Ginny's demand and we cracked open the parcel of fabric swatches. We'd just chosen one when Jack returned, having made all the arrangements for their visit.

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I arrived at Hogwarts that evening to find Harry fast asleep on a chair in my study. His glasses had sunk down his nose and one side of his hair was flared upward. I snuck over to the side of the chair and was bending down to kiss his forehead when his arm shot out around my waist and pulled me over the arm of the chair. I landed in an undignified heap and floundered around trying to right myself while Harry laughed.

"Little help here…" I grunted.

"Like this?" Harry shot to his feet, picking me up like a new bride. I squealed and grabbed his collar.

"What's gotten into you?" I squirmed. He tightened his grip.

"I missed you." He dropped a kiss on my collarbone. "Hang on," he commanded. I looped my arms around his neck just in time; he dropped the arm that had been holding up my shoulders and fished out his wand. He shut the floo and locked my chambers, then looked at me as though I should congratulate him for being clever. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What are you doing at Hogwarts, anyway?" I teased. He started to stride toward my bedroom.

"I knew you'd be too tired to come home," he paused to kick the door open a bit farther before angling us so we'd fit through the doorframe.

"But you were too tired to come here," I protested. He set me on the bed and sat beside me. I ran my fingers through the most chaotic section of his hair. I guess I was undercutting my protests by grinning at him like I was, but I decided after we'd been married for two weeks that I'd stop caring about that kind of thing. It's for the best. I smile at him a lot. Really a lot.

I gave him a quick kiss and slid off the bed, pulling the pins out of my hair as I went. I heard him stand, then felt his fingers join mine as I took out my braids. I closed my eyes as he ran his hands through my hair. "Don't fall asleep standing up," he teased.

"Can't," I murmured. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. "I spent ages in the New York apparition office today; I feel disgusting." His quiet laugh followed me as I walked into the bathroom, shedding clothes along the way. "What about you?"

"What do you mean?" I barely heard his response over the shower I'd just started. I could hear his clothes piling on the bathroom floor, then the tap of his glasses frames against the countertop. He slid in behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist.

"Why were you asleep in my chair?" I didn't bother twisting to face him. Instead I brought my hand over to his and traced the arc of his wedding band with the tip of my finger. The palm side of it was cool against the skin of my waist.

"Long day." I tensed, and he leaned down to kiss my neck. "No, I did not hurt my shoulder."

"Is everything all right?" I turned to face his chest and craned my neck back to see him. He gave me a crooked and tired grin. "It's not the press…"

"No," he soothed. He reached behind me and started to wash my hair. We'd got into the habit of showering together during that first week at the house, and I could barely keep my eyes open as he went through the familiar motions. He was practically holding me up by the time he finished rinsing all the conditioner from my hair.

"Love?" His voice was gentle and close to my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and pulled them open. He gave me another tired grin.

"M'sorry…" I muttered. He shook his head. I pulled myself fully upright and managed to get myself dry and in one of Harry's old shirts, but stopped short of drying my hair. I curled tight against Harry's chest between the chilly sheets and peered up at him. He looked a little humored, and I could tell he was watching me nearly fail to keep my eyes open. "Can't stay awake," I managed at last.

"It's all right," he drew his thumb down my hairline and over the edge of my ear, then tilted my head up toward him. He flicked his eyes over my face, then kissed me deeply. He'd waited, I knew. He pulled back and smirked at me. "I'll just wake you up early tomorrow," he leered. I didn't even manage to elbow him before I fell asleep.

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_Before anyone gets skittish, allow me to reassure you that there will be flashbacks to cover some of the high points during the end of term. Never fear. And while you're at it, please drop me a review if you're still reading._


	31. Amateur Stealth and Tracking

**Amateur Stealth and Tracking**

"Throw me that broom polish, will you?" Harry's voice carried around the corner from the study into my old bedroom. My Hogwarts chambers seemed smaller now that we were usually there together. I dug the polish tin out from under the pile of blankets hanging off the end of the bed and brought it into the sitting room, hooking my earring through my earlobe with my other hand as I walked. Harry's welcoming grin fell into a grimace when he saw what I was doing. "I don't know how you can do that," he groused.

"I've had them pierced since I was ten, Harry. They're healed. It's like putting on socks." He wrinkled his eyebrows a bit more. "Your face is going to stick like that."

"There's coffee if you want." Of course there was. From the morning after our marriage, Harry had made coffee before I woke up. Every single day. I felt half a grin crawl up the side of my face as I walked over to pour myself a cup. I had him drinking it every morning too, now.

"Jack's coming in through Heathrow with Lana and Max." I walked over to the side of the chair where Harry sat with his servicing kit and broom, and I ran the tips of my fingers across his scalp.

"You told them about Voldemort." His voice was flat, but not a bad flat. Demanding, maybe.

"I did. Jack already knew most of it; I didn't keep the war secret from him." I wandered over to the chair across from Harry and sat with my feet tucked beside me. "Jack was kind of surprised you'd marry little old me."

"Doesn't he know you're a looker?" Harry teased. I whipped the pillow out from behind me and hurled it at his head. He raised his hands.

"Don't remind me of that guy!" I hollered. "I'd almost forgotten, too…"

Harry just smirked back at me for a moment before returning to his polishing. He'd been referring to the night we made our first public appearance as a married couple. It was early spring, and we'd been invited to the home of one of Harry's bosses for a small party. I was wound tighter than an eight day clock, and I think my grip on Harry's arm was painful as we walked to the front door of the mansion. I'm sorry to say it only got worse once we were inside.

I first sensed that something was off when I noticed the smell. The entire place smelled faintly of men's cologne—the kind you get in little vials from the coin-op machines in gas station restrooms. Then there were the lights. There wasn't much illumination, and what there was had been filtered through pinkish shades. Yes, mood lighting. I remember thinking, as we'd entered the foyer, that we might have misunderstood the kind of party this was.

Before I could open my mouth we were relieved of our cloaks and put into a line of couples waiting to be introduced by a man dressed as a footman. Well, he was sort of dressed as a footman. Let me put it this way: if footmen didn't wear shirts, but still had collars and cuffs, they'd look like this guy. By then I was actively seeking an exit, having decided this would be very embarrassing and maybe illegal.

There wasn't an exit, though. That's what you get for going to a high-up Auror's house for a party, I suppose. You can't just ditch. But still I looked. I didn't share my worries with Harry, who seemed to be looking around as much as I was. I assumed he thought what I did. It turns out I was wrong. Harry stepped forward, and ushered me with him. The half-naked footman pressed a set of keys into my hand as he drew us toward the door to the ballroom. My stomach dropped into my feet.

Keys! If this were a sitcom I would face the camera and say "I think we all know what that means," and we would all know. But it wasn't. It was my first married appearance in public with Harry Potter, and it was at a key party, and I was pretty sure Harry didn't know a key party from a hole in the head.

"Harry," I hissed. I elbowed him, hard, for good measure. He turned just as I did, and waved at a balding man across the room. I grabbed for his bicep before he could step away from me. "Harry!"

"What is it, Anna?" He gave me an irritated look. I imagine I was giving him one right back.

"We can't go in there!"

"Of course we can," he turned toward me and put his palms down heavily on my shoulders. I squirmed. "Tom said they'd meant to send us an invitation; it was just an oversight."

"That's not it," I hissed. I caught movement in my peripheral vision and pulled Harry with me into the shadows of the heavy draperies beside the ballroom doors.

"What's wrong, then?"

"This!" I dangled the set of keys in front of him. "Harry, it's a key party!"

"Where'd you get those?"

"At the door, Harry. It's a key party." Come on, Potter. Don't tell me you don't know what a key party is.

"What's a key party?" Damnation. I pulled Harry closer to me and against the wall and started to whisper.

"You know, a key party. Like in the seventies?" He gave me a blank look. I could see the shift from irritated to worried starting to take place, though. "It's a swingers' party, Harry."

I will carry the mental image of Harry's thunderstruck look with me to my grave. I almost laughed aloud. Instead I gripped his arms and pulled him closer to me and farther into the folds of the draperies.

"The men leave their keys at the door, and the women get a random set of keys out of the pile. The women find the man whose keys they have and, um," I looked at the ceiling a moment, then at Harry. "You get the rest."

"No," he hissed. He snatched the keys out of my hand and held them so tightly I wondered if he was trying to bend them out of shape. Then he looked down at them, and his face fell. He turned the ring of keys over in his hands and separated out a bottle opener formed from two dragons. "Charlie," he breathed.

"Harry?" I bent down to catch his eyes. He looked up at me and blinked once, then took me by the shoulders.

"This is Charlie Weasley's or I'm a grindylow." I had to hold very still for a moment while the traitorous jig of excitement in my chest finished. I mean, the man's a dragon tamer. Come on.

"So we'll ditch them somewhere and make our excuses. I'm sure some other witch would love to… never mind." I made to grab the keys back from Harry and walk off, but he held me still.

"Would you want to?" He had me tight between his chest and the wall behind me, and the folds of the drapes obscured my peripheral vision. For a moment I forgot why we were even talking.

"With Charlie? Why?" I blundered. Smooth, Anna, real smooth.

"Would you?" Harry put his fist against the wall next to my ear and leaned down to look me in the eye. I started to shift, but he put his other hand against my ribs and held me still.

"No," I managed. Harry gave me a quick kiss before straightening up and stepping away from me.

"Correct, Mrs. Potter," he intoned. "Let's find Charlie, shall we?"

"No," I blurted. Harry raised an eyebrow at me. I grinned. "Let's find Charlie a woman." Harry gave me a long look that made me think of Hermione. "Come on, if he's here he must need to get laid." Harry's eyebrows shot upward. I looked around quickly; no heads had turned our way. I lowered my voice a little. "What about the blond by the wine bar?"

"We're not doing this, Anna." Harry's hand clenched momentarily where it rested on my forearm. I started walking toward the blond, pulling him with me. His steps dragged.

"I'd do it myself if you'd give me those keys," I muttered.

"No." He put his chin up a fraction higher. I dug my nails lightly into his arm. His lips twitched a little at the edges.

"Harry. He's not here on accident."

"He could be!" A woman carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres glanced over at Harry. He lowered his voice. "We are," he hissed.

"He took off everything but the house key and his bottle opener," I reasoned, "and Lord knows wizards don't even need metal keys."

"That doesn't mean anything," Harry grunted.

"Yes it does," I hissed. I tugged Harry to an empty end of the long bar. "He left his house key, printed with a street address number, and a dragon bottle opener. It practically says 'I'm a dragon tamer, come fuck me.'"

If Harry had anything to spit, he'd have spit it. Instead he made a very inelegant noise and nearly dropped the keys. "Anna!"

"What? He's a grown wizard. Besides, we'll find him a good one." Harry's face had turned a sunset-worthy shade of pinkish-red. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. I handed him a flute of champagne. "So, what do you know about the women he dates?"

"Anna!" Harry blurted. I looked at him, and he looked at me. I think he was gathering his thoughts, but I never found out. Instead, the balding man he'd waved to when we walked in arrived. He clapped Harry hard on the back and beamed at me.

"Harry Potter," he announced, "is this the young missus you've been hiding? Quite a looker, she is."

I'll admit I had a really hard time not snorting the champagne in my mouth right up into my sinuses when he said that. I think I made some kind of face, because Harry very smoothly started to draw the man's attention. I tuned in about here: "…haven't wanted to be much in the public eye so soon after our wedding, knowing how the press can be. I'm sure you understand, Mr. Pfaltzbottom."

"Of course, of course," the man nodded. "Lovely to have you here, my dear; quite a compliment to us I'm sure."

"Thank you," I blathered, still stuck on the 'looker' moniker.

"I'll just let you both get back to the festivities," the man said. He gave Harry an old-boy-at-the-club punch on the shoulder and nodded his head to me before walking on down the bar to the next person.

"Well, looker," Harry smirked, "what was your plan?"

"Shush," I snapped. "We've got to find Charlie a woman. Then we've got to get out of here without doing anything that we wouldn't want Hermione to know about."

"Too late for that," Harry muttered.

"You didn't answer. What about the blond?" Harry craned his neck around and didn't hide his open appraisal of the statuesque woman drinking a deep red wine at the bar. He turned back to me and shook his head.

"No. Charlie likes brunettes." He glanced up at the ceiling, then back to me. "He likes them fit, too. Muscular."

I cast my eyes around the room, crossing out all the blonds and redheads. My eyes came to rest on a head of gold-brown hair. I could see the woman's toned back exposed by the cut of her dress. I narrowed my eyes. "Dark blue dress, second from the rightmost pillar, next to the guy with the glasses and white hair."

"I don't see," Harry squinted toward the space I'd pointed out. "Oh, there. I think—yeah, that's Perla Martine, she works on my floor."

"Think she'd sleep with Charlie?"

Harry made a mournful noise as he turned back toward me. "I don't know, Anna." He turned back toward her. "I don't want to know," he muttered. "I think she might."

"Good." I held my palm out to him. "Keys, please."

"What?"

"I'm going to go offer her the keys. I'll say I'm trying to cheat to get your keys, and that I have to trade hers to make all the other trades work." Harry gave me a confused grimace for a long moment before releasing the keys into my hand. I set my champagne flute next to his and gave him what I figured was a reassuring look.

Perla Martine was charming as all hell. Her teeth were gleaming and her lashes long. She'd have made me sick with envy in high school. I felt pretty good about handing her those keys. She gave me a conspiratorial look, then tugged me close to whisper in my ear. Several heads turned our way, and I was a little unnerved by the open lust I saw on the faces of some of them.

"Just drop them in a plant and leave with your man, mija," she purred. "No one will say one word."

"But it's the game," I smiled. Her smile widened.

"Good hunt," she winked. I brought the traded keys back to Harry at the bar. That set we foisted on an elegant blond woman with quicksilver eyes. The next set we gifted to a woman with dyed red hair and dark eyeliner. The next we shuffled toward a woman whose brown curls were flipping out of her hairpins in all directions, and the final set we put in the hands of a woman with almost perfectly black eyes. At last we had Harry's keys. Actually, I did. I dropped them down the bodice of my dress so the metal rested against my breastbone and walked back to Harry.

"Next?" He gave me a longsuffering look. I smiled back at him.

"Nothing." He raised his eyebrows. "Take me home."

"You have them?"

"Do you trust me?" His eyes rested on my face, then skimmed my body before returning to meet my gaze. He nodded. I smirked at him and turned away to walk toward the door. I could see the bald man out of the corner of my eye, and on a whim I turned to wink at him. I could hear Harry make a choked noise behind me—I guess he saw me—but I kept walking. Outside in the wet chill of early morning in spring I wrapped my arms around Harry and apparated him home with me.

Two days later we received two packages by owl. One was for me, from Perla, and contained a bottle of obscenely expensive perfume. The other was for Harry, from Charlie, and contained a dragon-hide wand holster. At the next Weasley dinner neither one of them was present. Harry never told me whether Mr. Pfaltzbottom mentioned the party again. I suppose he never did.

Harry's voice jerked me from my memories. "Anna? Are they staying in London?"

"Sorry… Yes, they're staying in London. They're more comfortable in a muggle hotel," I gave my head a little shake and started searching my travel bag for the swatches of fabric Ginny'd sent.

"It's all right." He put the last of the tins back in its place in the kit and set his broom to the side of the mantel. "I suppose it's easier for you to stay here while they're visiting."

"No, Harry," I said quickly. "They're here to see us. I want to stay at the house." He nodded, but I had the feeling he didn't get what I really wanted to say. "I have to let them know I really married you, you know? That I meant it."


End file.
